


Realignment

by amethystkrystal



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky names his goats after 1940s movie stars, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Getting Together, Illnesses, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mutual Pining, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Scoliosis, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Steve's spine is as straight as he is, Wakandan Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-08-09 01:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16440452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystkrystal/pseuds/amethystkrystal
Summary: After assembling their own Infinity Gauntlet, the Avengers defeated Thanos and brought back everyone who disappeared. But their victory came at a great cost: in order to take the Soul Stone, Steve had to sacrifice the Captain America mantle and all the super-soldier strength that came with it.Small and sickly again, Steve’s poor health soon reaches a breaking point and his last option is a difficult surgery only Shuri and her team can perform.But not all hurts can be fixed with medicine, and the real healing begins after the operation -- when Bucky asks Steve to stay in Wakanda with him.





	1. I Was Gonna Ask

 

Steve watched out the cockpit window as the illusory wall of trees wavered and dissolved, and the dense metropolitan sprawl of Wakanda's capital city came into view.

Beside him, Sam let out an impressed whistle as he steered the jet toward their designated landing dock —the one nearest the medical facility.

“Man, this place never gets old.”

Steve hummed in agreement. He stared out at the seemingly endless expanse of elegant structures and bustling streets below them. It had been just over a year since the last time he was in Wakanda, and he was glad to see they were thriving again now that Thanos's snap had been undone. He clung to moments like this, saved them for bad days when he needed a reminder that his sacrifice had been worth it.

"How you holding up? I know it was a long ride." Sam gave a pointed glanced at Steve's torso, where a StarkTech brace wrapped around his back.

Steve grimaced as he tried to sit up a little straighter and it felt like someone had stuck a knife in his back. The ten-hour flight really hadn't done any wonders for the crooked mess that was his spine.

Steve was six when he was diagnosed with scoliosis and it had gotten worse every year. By the time he'd met Erskine, it had just gotten to the point where the unnatural curvature started putting pressure on his lungs and heart, exacerbating his already pernicious asthma and arrhythmia. In the year since sacrificing Captain America, it had progressed so bad he had trouble standing upright and occasionally couldn't feel one or both of his legs with the nerve damage. Modern medicine was a marvel, but there was only so much that could be done after having the condition go undertreated for so long in his youth.

"I'll be better tomorrow," Steve said. "After the surgery."

About a month ago, suspiciously right after he'd made a throwaway complaint about his back during a video call with Bucky, Shuri had called him out of the blue and started talking a mile a minute about making adaptations to the spinal implants she already had developed for Bucky's prosthesis.

After weeks of back and forth between Shuri and Tony and Bruce, Steve and Sam had finally arrived in Wakanda for the surgery.

As they made their descent, Steve could see the small entourage waiting for them on the landing pad. T'Challa and Shuri, flanked by Dora Milaje. A few people in long white coats that Steve assumed were medics. And, impossible to miss, there was Bucky.

Steve's breath hitched and it had nothing to do with the way his spine pressed on his lungs.

The quinjet touched ground with a halting shudder, and he and Sam made their way down the ramp. They moved in slow steps as Steve leaned on his cane and Sam matched his pace. The medics hurried toward him, offering a wheelchair, but he waved them off. It did not escape his notice that Bucky rolled his eyes at that.

"It is good to see you again," T'Challa said warmly, shaking Steve and Sam's hands.

Shuri, meanwhile, hardly acknowledged their presence at all, instead bending down to inspect the brace visible underneath Steve's t-shirt.

"Not bad, not bad," she mused, rucking up Steve's shirt and trailing her hands along the device. "Clever to use reinforced aluminum rather than steel. Allows for some flexibility while still maintaining the fixed shape. But I might've adjusted the dimensions to--"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it, kid. You're a genius."

Bucky stepped forward, shaking his head and smiling. Without any hesitation at all, he bent down and took Steve up in a hug. The embrace was gentle; Bucky was careful not to put any pressure on the brace around Steve's lower back, instead pressing his hand higher up between his shoulder blades. One hand still gripping his cane, Steve brought the other up to wrap around Bucky's back. He felt warm and solid under Steve's palm. Steve held tight; it had been over five years since D.C., but Steve didn't think he'd ever stop regarding Bucky's presence as anything short of a miracle. Especially given recent years.

Bucky pulled back after a moment, straightening up and giving Steve a gentle pat on the shoulder. "I missed you, pal."

Steve looked up, meeting Bucky's eyes. Small, massive, then small again -- the way Bucky looked at him never seemed to change. He let out a breath.

"Missed you too."

They headed into the medical facility, and Steve acquiesced to being pushed along in the wheelchair. Not only did he not want to slow the entire group down, but with the way his spine bent and put pressure on his heart and lungs, he knew walking for too long would almost certainly set off breathing trouble. So, with Bucky and Sam walking on either side of him, he settled into the chair while the crown princess of Wakanda herself pushed him down the long, softly lit hallway.

"I got the scans Dr. Banner sent," Shuri told him. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to take some of my own. I need a better look at the surrounding connective tissue."

"Whatever you need," Steve said.

A moment later Shuri steered him into a small room. Sparsely furnished with only a bed, a single chair and a few pieces of medical equipment, the room was lit bright by the low sun that came in through the massive window that took up almost the entirety of one of the walls.

"Natural light has a lot of health benefits," Shuri explained as Steve stared out at the expanse of jungle and mountains. "So all the patient rooms have windows like this."

She rolled him close to the bed and directed the medics to assist him with getting onto it. T'Challa, Sam, and Bucky stood to the side, keeping out of the way as the medics helped Steve with removing his shirt and brace before lying down on his stomach. Sam had seen it all before, so the grotesque bend of Steve's spine didn't phase him in slightest. And T'Challa, a king well-practiced at not offending his guests, maintained a controlled expression. But Bucky though… his worry was written all over his face, mouth twisted into an upset frown Steve was all too familiar with.

" _Jesus_ Steve."

"Yeah, Buck, I know." Steve threw him a withering look. "That's why I'm here."

Satisfied with Steve's positioning, Shuri held one of her kimoyo beads in her palm and moved it slowly along the space just above the length his back. Once finished, she nodded at the medics who helped Steve sit back on the bed, adjusting the reclining mattress so he was comfortably upright.

Shuri flicked her wrist and the kimoyo bead projected a detailed, rotating image of Steve's spinal column. The crooked vertebrae looked even worse without the cover of muscles and skin. She studied it for a long while, rotating the image, zooming in and out of different sections.

"This is going to be very dangerous," she said at last.

Steve set his jaw. "But you can do it, right?"

"Yes," she said. "But you have to understand, even with our advanced medicine, because your heart and lungs and immune system are the way they are, any surgery is a risk for you. And this procedure is especially tricky."

"I know," Steve said. This wasn't the first time she'd given him this warning. "But we have to try. I can't live like this."

Shuri's expression softened and she cracked a tiny grin. "Well, it's a good thing you're in my very capable hands."

She and the medics spent a few moments getting Steve set up in the room, hooking him up to an IV, taking vitals, and confirming the (lengthy) list of medications he was taking. The sun had nearly set by the time they'd finished getting him settled in.

"Your surgery is scheduled for 8 A.M. tomorrow. Try and get some rest, Steve." Shuri gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and then strode toward the door. "Come on, Sam. T'Challa and I will bring you to your guest room in the palace. You should be very excited; we just renovated the pool in the guest wing."

"Aw _hell_ yeah." Sam gave Steve a final clap on the shoulder before following Shuri and T'Challa out.

Only Bucky remained in the room, still regarding Steve with a concerned stare as he stood a few feet away from the bed.

"No pool party for you?" Steve said.

"Definitely not with Wilson." Bucky rolled his eyes, smirking a little. He came over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, even though there was a chair right there. The mattress had plenty of room for them both; it was at least a double and it wasn't like Steve took up much space anymore.

"You know, I always hated seeing you like this," Bucky said.

Steve didn't have to ask what he meant. God knows the number of times they'd found themselves in this position: Steve sick in a hospital bed with Bucky at his side. It hadn't happened in over a lifetime, but that didn't lessen the pain and worry embedded in those memories, now unearthed again by current circumstances.

"It's not so bad as before," Steve said. And that was true. Modern medicine really was something. He had an inhaler with him at all times. He injected himself with insulin everyday for his diabetes. He took pills for his blood pressure and supplements for his anemia. Some days were better than others but the only thing that really gave him trouble now was the scoliosis, and even that was about to be fixed.

So, objectively, he knew things were better than they had been. But perspective was a tricky thing. Even his best days now were miles from the strength and vitality he'd had with the serum. And sometimes, that loss pained him than any illness he'd ever had.

"How have things been besides...?" Bucky asked, trailing off as he gestured around them at Steve's brace and the IV and the beeping monitors.

Steve wasn't sure how to answer that. He had a lot of mixed emotions about the past year. The was joy at living with his team, his _family,_ again, and there was amazement at the ways science and technology could turn a symptom he used to see as a death sentence into something he could stave away with a couple pills. But not everything was so happy. The first time he saw Sam put on an all-new winged suit that was painted red, white and blue, Steve's pride was matched by his envy. And after Wanda got hurt on a mission while he watched the whole thing from the Facility control center, the guilt stung so bad it took him three days before he could look any of the Avengers in the eye.

The only thing Steve didn't feel was regret. Because, God, how could he want to go back on his choice when he got to laugh and joke with Sam everyday? When he watched Wanda and Vision walk the Facilty grounds hand in hand. When he had _Bucky_ right in front of him, alive and well and looking at him so caring and worried the way he always had.

Steve felt a lot of things about the past year, but regret was not one of them. And in the end, that was all that mattered. So rather than divulge any of his complicated matrix of feelings, Steve simply answered Bucky's question with:

"Things have been good."

Bucky gave him a look like he didn't believe him, but it was more sad than disapproving. That made Steve's chest tighten. He could take Bucky being annoyed at him for trying to hide that something was wrong -- God knows how many times they'd had _that_ argument before. But Bucky looking at him like it actually broke his heart to realize Steve was unhappy... Steve didn't know what to do with that.

They fell into silence that only just bordered on uncomfortable. In their quiet, the last traces of the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and an instant later, dim lights turned on in the room, casting everything in a soft amber glow. In the semi-darkness, the gilded patterns on Bucky's vibranium arm shone bright against the shadows. It was beautiful.

 _Bucky_ was beautiful.

Steve had known that truth no matter what form it took: the handsome, carefree boy in Brooklyn; the silent shadow who perched above battlefields and felled enemies at Steve's feet like a guardian angel; the lost and broken soldier, tense as a spring with all the unwanted strength coiled inside him.

But now, Bucky was beautiful in the way a blooming flower was beautiful: not for its colors or its form, but for its potential _,_ its _promise_. Bucky had a whole peaceful existence ahead of him and the hope of it was etched in his every feature.

"Listen," Bucky said, suddenly breaking the silence. "I wanted to ask you something."

_I was gonna ask--_

The sense of deja vu struck Steve like a punch to the gut.

"What is it?"

_I know what you're gonna say Buck._

"After the surgery, even after the recovery, you're gonna have to do a lot of physical therapy and they're gonna wanna monitor you. I know Stark probably has someone lined up for you in the States. But. Maybe you should stay in Wakanda for a while."

Steve already knew about the physical therapy. Shuri had told him he would need at least 12 weeks of an intensive program and then monthly sessions after that. And Bucky was right; he already had all his appointments booked with a specialist at the Facility. Each one early in the morning before he had to report to his station at the control center.

"I've got work to do at the Facility," Steve said. "You know that."

"Look, I get it's important to you, helping out in whatever way you can. But I can tell it's been hard on you. Being there but not really being on the team. Maybe some time away would be good."

"Bucky, come on, I--"

"You could stay with me."

Steve's protestations died in this throat.

Bucky went on, more insistent now. "I know all your ailments better than anyone, and my place is close to the city if anything happens. But it's still quiet and peaceful." He gave Steve a tiny smile. "It would just be me and you and the goats."

The sudden longing that welled up in him at Bucky's words should not have been so surprising to Steve. The feelings he had for Bucky had been a part of him as long as he could remember. And no matter how deep he buried them beneath his other devotions to duty and freedom and loyalty, the way he felt always remained, and it made him ache for what Bucky just offered: a place for Steve in the idyllic life he was carving for himself. Steve knew he meant it as a friend, as a protector. Not in the way Steve secretly wished for. But still, the invitation pulled on a desirous part of him.

And if there was anything Steve had learned from the past year, it was that he was, in fact, only human.

"Okay, Buck," Steve found himself saying.

"Yeah?" Bucky's face lit up so bright it made Steve's stomach swoop.

"Yeah." Steve couldn't help but break out into his own grinning at Bucky's obvious joy. "I'll tell Shuri to set me up for PT here and I'll let everyone at the Facility know I'll be here for a while."

"God, it's gonna be nice having someone around who doesn't bleat when they're hungry."

"Well, I don't know if I can make any promises about that..."

Bucky rolled his eyes but he was still smiling. He reached out and took Steve's hand in his own, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. The playful mood suddenly fell away into something that felt more profound.

"Get some rest, Steve. I'll see you in the morning."

Bucky let Steve's hand drop and then walked out of the room, still smiling.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Small Steps

It had been four hours since Steve went into surgery, and for the umpteenth time, Bucky reminded himself that Steve was going to be _fine_.

He was in the very best hands. Not because Shuri was brilliant or because Wakandan technology surpassed anything else. But because Shuri -- for all her pride and ambition -- never forgot the value of life over scientific achievement. If there was ever any real risk to Steve's well-being, Bucky knew she would halt the operation immediately.

Bucky didn't really understand much of the science behind it, but from what Shuri explained, the surgery was profoundly complicated. The implants in Steve's spine had to be placed in a very particular configuration so that the magnetic forces between them would move Steve's vertebrae into a normal alignment. The actual process would take months -- it needed to be gradual so as not to cause tissue and muscle damage -- and Steve would need to go physical therapy in the meantime to keep his muscles strong enough for the shifting.

Since his conversation with Steve the night before, Bucky couldn't help the nervous anticipation that rose up inside him whenever he started thinking about what was going to happen after the surgery.

He was glad to be living with his best friend again after all their years apart, was glad to be the one who could give Steve a place to heal and rest. But he couldn't deny his own selfishness. Bucky wanted Steve close, wanted to bring him into his quiet haven and show him that it was somewhere he could stay, somewhere they could--

Bucky stopped his train of thinking right there. Steve wasn't like that, didn't feel that way. It wouldn't do him any good to let his thoughts wander in that direction.

Still, the excited tension didn't go away, and God help him, he wanted to talk about it with someone who would understand the significance of Steve agreeing to stay.

So Bucky cleared his throat and shattered the long silence that had settled between him and Sam Wilson as they sat alone in the waiting room.

"I asked Steve to stay with me. While he recovers after the surgery."

Sam looked up, and if he was surprised by Bucky's words, he didn't show it. He just asked, "What'd he say?"

"He tried to argue, at first. But he said yes."

Sam gave a slow nod, eyebrows raised like he was impressed. "I'm surprised you managed to convince him to get away from the Facility. Dude literally gave up _everything_ to save half the world, and he still thinks he's gotta be part of the fight."

"Can you tell me, honestly, how he's been doing?" Bucky said quietly. From their occasional messages and video calls, Bucky had already figured out Steve wasn't exactly coping well with losing the serum -- it was why he'd asked him to stay in Wakanda. But he wanted to hear it from Sam, someone who saw him everyday and cared for him as much as Bucky did.

Sam let out a long sigh. "He's happy you're alive. That I'm alive. That Wanda and Vision and T'Challa and that annoying-ass spider kid and everyone else is alive. He doesn't regret his choice, but what the Stone took from him…it was more than taking away Captain America. He'd lost that before, after everything that went down with the Accords. But even without the spangly outfit, he could still fight the good fight, you know? But now… he's just lost, man. Like he doesn't know who he is without being a superhero."

Bucky understood exactly what Sam meant. He'd known Steve before the serum, knew how he used to wish for strength, for the means to right the wrongs he saw in the world. But the difference between that naive yearning and the emptiness Steve grappled with now was obvious. To be given your most desperate desire and then have it taken away hurt a thousand times more than never having it at all.

"Maybe getting away from it all will help."

Sam just looked at him, thoughtful at first, and then amused.

"Yeah Barnes," he said after a while. "Maybe it will."

When they fell quiet after that, the silence between them nearly bordered on companionable.

Nearly.

Feeling hungry, Bucky went down the hall to the hospital cafe and returned a moment later carrying a large serving of his favorite Wakandan dish -- a thick, sweet dough stuffed with meat and vegetables and glazed with a spicy sauce. _Ipokotho_ it was called. He cut it in two pieces, deliberately making one piece noticeably smaller than the other. He gave that one to Sam.

"Thanks asshole."

"Don't mention it."

Two more hours passed in relative silence before Bucky's single kimoyo bead made a low beeping sound, glowing blue. He tapped it immediately, bringing up the message.

 

 **_Shuri_ ** **:** **_Surgery went well. Bringing him to recovery now. Will tell you when you can see him._ **

 

Bucky let out a sigh, letting his head fall back in his chair.

"Everything alright?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," Bucky said, relief bleeding out in his voice. "Shuri just told me they're taking him to the recovery room."

The next several minutes passed agonizingly slow. He hated how familiar it all was -- the wait for the procedure to finish, the wait to see him in recovery. No matter what century they were in, trusting Steve to doctors while he sat helpless in the other room never failed to turn Bucky into a nervous mess.

The waiting room doors slid open and Shuri strode in, beaming. Bucky was on his feet at once.

"We just got him settled in his room," Shuri said. She was practically glowing with triumph. "You'll be able to see him now."

"You're the best, kid. Thank you." Bucky poured every ounce of gratitude he had into the words.

Shuri just laughed at him. "Come on, I'll bring you to him."

She led them through the halls back to the same room Steve had stayed in the previous night. Steve was lying on his side, propped up by large, solid pillows on either side of him. Through the opening in the back of his hospital gown, Bucky could see thick white bandages wrapped around his torso. His eyes were closed, though he stirred and murmured feebly. Bucky went straight to his side, moving past Shuri and Sam to claim the chair next to the bed.

"He'll be out of it for a few hours," Shuri said, coming up behind him.

Bucky just nodded, not taking his eyes off Steve.

Steve let out a low groan, eyes blinking open. He looked around dazedly at Bucky, Sam, and Shuri. Then his eyes fell closed again. Despite everything, Bucky couldn't help letting out a snort of laughter; Steve was _completely_ out of it.

"Make sure you get some video of him like this, for blackmail," Shuri said. "The nurses will come in every so often to check on him, and I'll be back later to run some tests when he's more lucid. You both can stay with him as long as you like."

Bucky and Sam expressed their gratitude once more before Shuri left them alone with Steve.

"Man, how come you get the comfy chair?" Sam griped as he dragged a stool across the room to sit beside Bucky.

"I'm an old man, that's why."

Beside them, Steve let out another groan, eyes fluttering open again. He looked all around him, taking the room in like he'd never seen it before, and then fixed his gaze on Bucky and Sam.

"Did it work?" he croaked.

"Yeah, pal." Bucky said, voice soft. "Surgery went great."

Steve just closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

It went on like that for a couple more hours as Steve went in and out of consciousness, each time managing to stay awake a little longer than the last. He'd been awake a full five minutes when Shuri came back into the room.

"How are you feeling?" Shuri asked him. "Any pain?"

"Not much pain. Mostly just drowsy as hell."

"Good," she laughed. "That means the drugs are working. I'm just going to do some quick neurological tests, okay?"

Steve brought his hand up to his forehead in a clumsy motion that could only vaguely be classified as a salute.

Bucky watched as Shuri administered the battery of tests, checking to make sure he could wiggle his fingers and move his feet and do all sorts of other tasks to confirm Shuri and her team hadn't done any damage to his nervous system. It was only after Steve successfully followed Shuri's pen with his eyes and the princess stepped away with a satisfied look that Bucky let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Everything looks good." Shuri said. It had been hours since they finished the surgery, but she still looked immensely pleased with herself. "If you're feeling up to it, we can try walking a few steps."

Even as he laid drugged-out in a hospital bed, being given a _challenge_ seemed to light something up in Steve. Suddenly, he didn't look quite so sleepy anymore, his face taking on an expression Bucky had seen many times. It was the same look he'd worn whenever he faced bullies in Brooklyn alleys: pure stubborn determination.

"Yeah," Steve said. "Let's try."

In slow, careful movements, Shuri helped Steve sit up. They paused there, letting Steve collect himself. Even something as simple as getting upright seemed to take tremendous effort..

"I'm good," Steve insisted, even as he was shaking and taking shallow breaths.

"Alright we're going to take this very slow," Shuri said. She took both of Steve's hand in hers, and in slow, ginger movements, Steve eased himself off the edge of the bed to come up standing.

He trembled in place, holding tight to Shuri's hands. His mouth was pressed into a thin line that meant he was in incredible pain but still hell bent on doing this. It took all of Bucky's self control not to gather him up in his arms and lay him back down on the bed.

Steve took a shaky step forward. And then another. And another. He made it to the end of the room, to the massive window that overlooked the Jabari Mountains. There he stopped and turned around, grinning in triumph.

Bucky couldn't help the joy that spread warm inside him.

Still leaning on Shuri, Steve made it back to the bed where he settled back down on his side.

"Not bad old man," Shuri said. "You did very well. But _don't_ get any stupid ideas about trying to walk on your own. Just because you're over one-hundred years old doesn't mean you have to reenact the LifeAlert commercial."

Shuri left shortly after that, but even as Steve drifted in and out of consciousness, Bucky and Sam didn't leave his side until well after dark.

  


The next morning, Bucky arrived at Steve's room just after sunrise. Steve was still sleeping, so he just sat beside him in the chair. Bucky had always been amazed at how the tension bled completely out of Steve's face when he slept. He'd noticed it when they lived together in Brooklyn, but the contrast in Steve's features between slumber and wakefulness was even more pronounced now.

Bucky sat there for nearly an hour before Steve stirred.

"Hey," he said, voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," Bucky said. "How you feeling?"

"Oh you know, I was thinking maybe I'd run a marathon later today."

Bucky just laughed, shaking his head.

Sam arrived a few moments later, and the two of them spent the entire rest of the day there, keeping Steve company.

The next few days passed in much the same fashion. Bucky could tell Steve was improving everyday; by the third day he was able to walk without anybody's help, just his own cane, and Bucky could hear the slight change in his breath as the implants were just starting to alleviate the pressure on his lungs.

"Steve can go home with you tomorrow," Shuri told them that evening.

 _Home_. Bucky's heart stilled at the word. Going home with Steve… it was all he'd wanted to do since the war.

He met Steve's eyes, and when they smiled at each other, Bucky felt like he could be burned alive by the hope that flared inside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the Bucky & Sam sass. Anybody else hella excited for their TV show that was just announced??
> 
> Next chapter: Steve and Bucky go home :)


	3. Home

Sam came to see Steve early on the morning he was to be discharged. The sun had barely started to rise; Steve could see it peeking up over the mountains in the distance, casting the steely sky with pinkish light. He'd been up for a while already, too filled with nervous anticipation to sleep much.

"Barnes sleeping in?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as he settled into the empty bedside chair that Bucky usually claimed.

"He's home. Shuri's gonna bring me over in a few hours. Are you heading back soon?" 

"Yeah, I just gotta stop in the city before I go. Nat will kill me if I forget to bring her back Wakandan pastries."

Steve laughed, despite feeling a pang of sadness when he imagined Sam arriving back at the Facility without him. Sam must have noticed the slight damper in his mood because he gave Steve a serious look and asked, "You gonna be alright here?"

Steve shrugged. "Bucky will take care of me."

"That's not what I asked."

"I just… It doesn't feel right taking a vacation. I mean, there's that AIM sect in Miami Tony just found. And who knows what's gonna happen with the situation in Uganda--"

"Alright first of all," Sam cut him off, sounding exasperated in a way Steve hadn't heard from him before. "This isn't a vacation, this is recovery from  _ spinal surgery _ . Second, the world isn't gonna end just because you're taking some time off, alright? Me and the rest of the team, we got this."

That was exactly the problem. The Avengers could handle Miami and Uganda and whatever else came up, and they could do it all without Steve's help. The time he spent at the control center, writing reports, organizing intel… all of it just contributed to the delusion that he still mattered. But the truth of it was, at the end of the day, when it came to the real action, they didn't need him at all. Steve knew that Sam had just meant to be reassuring, but the promise of the team's continued success even in his absence was just more reason he was reluctant to be away. It terrified him more than he would care to admit, thinking of what it would mean for him when the illusion that he still mattered to the team was shattered. 

Steve knew if he articulated any of that to Sam he would just get a stern talking to in his Therapist Voice, so he just said, "Thank you. For everything, for coming here with me. It means a lot."

Sam accepted his divergence from the topic with a half-smile and for that, Steve was grateful. "Hey you know I'm always down for a trip to Wakanda. Even if it means I have to see Barnes's ugly mug."

Steve just rolled his eyes, shaking his head and smiling. Sam gave him a clap on the shoulder, getting up from the chair. "Take care of yourself, Steve."

"You too. Cap."

  
  


It was nearly noon by the time Steve and Shuri, flanked by Dora Milaje, arrived at Bucky's homestead. From the medical facility, they traveled by landspeeder to a Border Tribe village, and then from there, it was a ten minute walk through the fields outside the village to Bucky's home. It had only been a few days since the surgery, but Steve already noticed an improvement. Before, that walk would have almost certainly triggered an asthma attack, but now, even under the blistering midday sun, Steve could make the trek no problem, so long as he went slow and leaned on his cane. 

As they approached, Steve could see Bucky outside, milking one of his goats. He had forgone his shirt, wearing only a pair light trousers, and his hair was pulled back in a loose half-bun. There was no mistaking the impressive strength displayed in his solid arms and cut abdomen, but Bucky's gentleness as he stroked the goat's fur and smiled at her pleased bleats was what really made Steve's chest ache with longing. 

A loud  _ thud _ sounded nearby and Steve turned to see a group of children leaping down one at a time from the tree they'd been perched in. Bucky had been living in Wakanda for years, and yet, he had told Steve, the village children still found him to be endlessly fascinating, spending long stretches of time just watching him as he worked. Steve remembered them from his previous visits. Twin girls N'Toba and N'Dele and two boys, Jiru and Kantu. Kantu was technically the youngest, barely more than a toddler when Thanos had happened, but he was the only one who hadn't disappeared so now they were all about the same age.

Shrieking in delight, the children ran to Shuri, who laughed and embraced each of them. The noise alerted Bucky to their arrival and he stepped away from his goat, coming to greet them. After exchanging pleasantries in rapid Xhosa with Shuri and the Dora Milaje, he turned to Steve.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

Steve glanced around, taking in the pastoral scene. Lush, green fields surrounded them, bordered by dense jungle that spanned for miles. Through the trees behind Bucky's hut, Steve could see lake sparkling under the midday sun. It was quiet except for the sounds of water lapping on the shore and children giggling.

"Good," Steve answered honestly.

Bucky grinned at him and then looked down when Kantu started tugging on the fabric of his pants. He was pointing at Steve, babbling in frantic Xhosa to Bucky. Steve didn't understand a word of it, but Bucky gave him a sheepish look as he knelt down to Kantu's level, replying to the boy in his own language. Steve did recognize one word Bucky said.

_ Ingonyama.  _ Lion. The nickname the children had given him the first time he'd come to visit Bucky, back when he'd grown out his hair and beard and actually had the build of an apex predator. Of course he would be unrecognizable now. 

Kantu looked him up and down, the hard expression of scrutiny almost comical on his youthful face. Then he broke out into a huge grin.

"Ingonyama! Ingonyama!" He leapt forward to wrap his arms around Steve in a tight hug, the other children rushing to join him. Their jostling made his back twinge a little with pain, but he didn't mind. The children had always been excited by his visits; every time he brought them trinkets and sweets from his travels with Sam, Nat, and Wanda. That harried time between the Accords and Thanos felt a million years ago, but it warmed Steve to know the Wakanda children still remembered him fondly. 

Bucky looked extremely pleased by the whole exchange. "Come on," he said, expression bright as he grabbed Steve's single piece of luggage from the royal attendant who held it. "Let's get you settled in."

"Before you go," Shuri said. "This is for you." She handed him a black, matte bracelet that held a single kimoyo bead. "I've programmed it with reminders for your medications and the schedule for all your physical therapy appointments."

"Thank you," Steve said. He understood the weight of the gesture. Wakanda may have been open to the world for a while now, but their kimoyo beads remained only for Wakandans. It sat with him strangely; he was grateful Shuri considered him worthy of such a gift, but it discomfited him to think of staying in Wakanda with any degree of permanence.

They bade goodbye to Shuri, and Bucky led Steve into his hut. A single room, the space was partitioned by an ornately stitched curtain that separated Bucky's bed from the living room and cooking area. At first glance, Bucky's home was a simple dwelling, but Steve had visited enough times to know the secret technological marvels it held --  there was an invisible forcefield in the doorway that only dissipated in the presence of Bucky's kimoyo bead and the panther mask above Bucky's bed was actually a projector for a computer interface that connected to Wakanda's main network.

Bucky set Steve's single suitcase down on the bed and nodded at a trunk set against the wall. "I picked up some clothes for you in the market, after you told me you were staying. I know you brought some stuff, but it gets hot as hell here and they use some kind of cooling material in all their clothes, something to do with vibranium strands stitched into the cloth."

Steve opened the chest, peering inside to see an assortment of neatly folded long tunics similar to the one's Bucky often wore. 

"Thank you, Buck."

Bucky's expression brightened. "Alright, I have some chores to finish up, so you just settle in and relax."

After Bucky went outside, Steve stripped out of his clothes and changed into one of the garments Bucky had gotten for him. Even in his t-shirt and khaki shorts, the mid-afternoon heat had felt sweltering, so it was a relief when he pulled on his new clothes and could tell instantly that Bucky was right about the cooling material. 

He was feeling good; everyday since surgery was markedly better than the last, and by now he had regained most of his normal energy. Still, he had strict orders from Shuri to rest as much as possible, and as much as he resented it, he didn't want to do anything that would ruin her handiwork. So, with a sigh, he settled himself on the couch.

He could see Bucky through the hut's open entrance, and for the next few hours, he watched, transfixed, as Bucky worked.

For the first time since coming out of the ice, Steve felt his fingers itching for a pencil and sketchbook.

When Bucky came back to the hut just after sunset, he carried an armful of vegetables. "I'm making stew for dinner," he announced.

As Bucky set to starting a cookfire and dicing the meat, Steve found a knife in one of the drawers and began chopping the vegetables. The routine of it was achingly familiar; they used to make meals together every night in their old apartment in Brooklyn. It made Steve's chest tighten, the way everything was so unbelievably different from back then and yet also exactly the same.

Bucky gave Steve a fond look when he turned around and saw what he was doing, and the sudden feeling of being  _ home _ was so jarring that Steve nearly dropped the corn he was shucking.

After they ate, Bucky brought out a deck of Wakandan-style playing cards and they played for a while. That too was familiar. The game may have been different, but he and Bucky had spent many a nights playing cards to pass the time. 

After a few rounds, Steve found himself stifling a yawn. Bucky still noticed his fatigue anyways, putting his cards down and saying, "We should probably get to sleep soon. I'll sleep on the couch while you're staying here, so you can have the bed."

"I'm not gonna put you out of your own bed, Buck. I can take the couch."

Bucky just stared at him. "You're not sleeping on the fucking  _ couch  _ after you just had  _ spinal surgery _ ."

"Look, there's plenty of room for both of us on the bed," Steve said, the suggestion spilling out before he could stop himself. "We've shared closer quarters before." Between the frigid winters in Brooklyn and cramped foxholes in the war, they'd spent countless nights tucked close together, so sharing Bucky's luxurious mattress shouldn't be so strange. Still, Steve couldn't help the blush he could feel spreading across his cheeks at the idea.

"Yeah, alright," Bucky agreed, giving him a look crossed between fondness and exasperation. 

Wordlessly, they cleared away the cards and got ready for bed, taking turns in the tiny washroom partitioned off in the corner. When Steve emerged, Bucky was already crawling into bed, wearing only his underwear. Steve stripped down too -- even well past sunset, the air was almost unbearably humid, and it wasn't anything either of them hadn't already seen before. 

Steve settled next to Bucky on the massive mattress, tucking himself under the blankets that, thankfully, seemed to be made out of the same vibranium-stitched material as his clothes. He laid flat on his back as per Shuri's instructions and closed his eyes. Not quite drifting off to sleep yet, he listened to the sounds around him. Bucky's low breathing, the chirping insects and animal calls. The was nothing quiet about the Wakandan countryside at night, yet it felt infinitely more peaceful than the dead silence of his Facility apartment. 

"I'm glad you're here, Steve."

Steve blinked his eyes open, glancing over to see Bucky laying on his side, facing him. Even in the dim moonlight, Steve could see the warm look in his eyes, the tentative half smile on his lips.

"Yeah, Buck. Me too," he whispered, wishing desperately it was more than a half-truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are home together! :D
> 
> Next time will be Steve's first full day at Wakandan farm life!


	4. A Warm Sunrise and Questionably-Named Goats

 

Bucky woke with his face pressed against Steve's shoulder and his vibranium arm slung across his slim torso. He hadn't meant to be in that position -- it must have happened in his sleep-- and knew he should extricate himself before Steve woke up, but he couldn't help indulging himself for a few more selfish moments. He closed his eyes and leaned just a little closer into Steve's warmth, listening to his breaths as they came, shallow and raspy. It sounded like home, like mornings in Brooklyn.

He knew inviting Steve to stay in Wakanda with him had been the right thing to do, but being in his constant presence made Bucky realize just how profoundly he'd underestimated his own feelings. Like adding coal to fire, every second he spent with Steve made the want in him burn brighter and brighter. Bucky didn't remember being this far gone back when they lived together in Brooklyn -- all those decades apart, all the awful things that had happened to them, must have forged youthful desire into aching _need_. As he laid there, pressed against Steve far too close but also not nearly close enough, all he could think of was how badly he wanted to wake up like this next to Steve every morning for the rest of his life.

Bucky was snapped out of his ruminations by a high-pitched, trilling sound coming from Steve's kimoyo bead. He shifted away from Steve at once as the other man began to wake. Steve blinked blearily, fumbling to turn off the kimoyo bead's alarm.

"Medications," he mumbled in explanation. He clambered out of bed, going over to the shelf in the cook area where his medicines were set up.

Bucky tried not to stare, but he couldn't help his gaze fixing on the long, thin scar that ran the full length of Steve's back. As usual with vibranium stitches, the scar was already mostly healed, the raised tissue a light pink color. Aside from the scar, Steve looked well, healthier than Bucky had seen in a while.

"You didn't use your cane," Bucky observed.

"Only need it for longer distances now," Steve said, not looking up as stuck himself just below the belly button with his insulin shot.

Fully awake now, Bucky got himself out of bed and began getting ready for the day, washing up and changing into his work clothes. He got breakfast ready while Steve changed, heating up the teakettle and setting bread and jam on the table.

They ate in silence, familiar and companionable. There had never been any need to force conversation when it was the two of them -- it was enough to just enjoy the peaceful morning in each other's company.

"I gotta get started on the work for today," Bucky said when they'd finished the last of the bread and jam.

"I'll come," Steve said at once.

Bucky hesitated, his first impulse being to tell Steve to get back in bed and rest. But he did seem healthier, and Bucky knew from personal experience that getting Steve to stay in bed all day was a tall order.

"Alright, come on, the goats need feeding."

Bucky hefted one of the bags of feed stored by the door over his shoulder, and he and Steve set off to the fenced-off goat pen. As was the case every morning, the goats were already gathered around the feeder, bleating excitedly when they noticed Bucky approaching.

"Ingrid had her kids a couple months ago," Bucky told Steve as he emptied the feed bag. He beamed, pointing at the black and white speckled nanny goat with two kids suckling from her as she ate her own breakfast from the feed.

"Yeah?" Steve said, a little teasingly at Bucky's unabashed pride. "What'd you name 'em?"

"Vivien and Clark," Bucky replied which earned him a snort of laughter. He'd taken to naming his goats after movie stars from their time, and Steve seemed to find it perpetually amusing.

Once the goats had their fill, Bucky grabbed a pail, pulled one of the nannys -- Ginger, he called her -- up next to him, and started milking. He glanced sideways at Steve and saw him watching with an unsettled look on his face, like it actually pained him to be idle while Bucky worked.

Bucky sighed and jerked a vibranium thumb over his shoulder at the supply shed. "Grab a pail. You can start with Judy."

Over the course of the next hour, they managed to get all the goats milked. It was nice, having Steve's company. Bucky was used to solitary in his morning routine, but he very much enjoyed watching Steve's initial hesitance at handling the animals eventually turn to open affection and ease as he took to petting them and calling each one "sweetheart".

It set Bucky's heart aching again. This could be their life. No alien invasions, no super-secret terrorist organizations. Just a warm sunrise and questionably-named goats.

Not particularly strenuous work, milking the goats turned out to be a good chore for Steve, so when he insisted on accompanying Bucky on his next task of picking mangoes, Bucky allowed it.

Besides his hut and the goat pen, Bucky's land also included three acres of mango orchards. He and Steve each took a wicker basket, with Bucky dragging along a larger wheeled cart for them to empty the baskets into when they were full. Mango season was still in its peak, so there was plenty of fruit still growing on the lower branches for Steve to pick. Meanwhile Bucky could use his enhanced strength to climb for what was up in the treetops.

"Show-off," Steve muttered the first time Bucky demonstrated such a feat.

Bucky responded by throwing a piece of fruit at him, carefully aimed to _almost_ hit him in the face.

They had finished with almost half the trees when Bucky noticed Steve's breathing was more labored than usual, and he could see the fatigue in his movement that he was trying, in vain, to hide.

"C'mon," Bucky said, setting his basket down and coming up next to Steve. "Let's take a break. I'm starving."

Steve gave him a look that very plainly said _I know what you're doing_ , but he made no protest, joining Bucky as he sat at the base of a mango tree. Bucky pulled out his pocket knife, plucked a mango from his basket, and cut it into slices, offering half to Steve.

Bucky leaned back, closing his eyes and resting his head against the tree. The sun was warm on his skin. The mango tasted sweet and juicy on his tongue.

When he'd first come to Wakanda, he'd felt overwhelming guilt about the safety and comfort T'Challa and his people offered him. After the things he'd done, he'd felt like he hardly deserved to live at all, let alone be granted his own land in the scenic country. But, over time, as he shifted the blame from himself to the monsters who'd tortured and brainwashed him, his feelings of unworthiness turned to a strange cross between gratitude and protectiveness -- he would appreciate every single moment he got to have in this paradise, and he would destroy anyone who dared try and take it from him.

Bucky glanced over at Steve. Even though they'd been resting for a while, he still looked tired. But Bucky couldn't bring himself to insist Steve go back inside and rest.

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

He stood up and grabbed Steve by the hand, hauling him to his feet. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Steve griped as Bucky led them back in the direction of the hut. Instead of going inside, though, Bucky took them around back where the thicket of trees surrounding his homestead opened up to a dirt path that led straight to the lakeshore.

"It's hot as hell," Bucky said. "I thought we could go for a swim."

They followed the path where it led to a small, rocky beach. Approaching noontime, the sun was high in the sky above them, glinting off the water's surface in glimmering pinpricks of light. The water was still and clear, lapping softly on the shore. Bucky could see a school of tiny fish swimming near the edge, though they scattered when he and Steve approached. Bucky stripped off his shirt, then his trousers. When his hands went to the waistband of his underwear, he noticed Steve tense. It was minute, but Bucky noticed anyways. He always noticed.

Steve glanced over his shoulder, halfway through removing his own pants. "What if the kids--"

Bucky couldn't help laughing. Sometimes he forgot how _different_ everything was in Wakanda. "Nobody cares here, Steve. It's just the human body."

Steve looked briefly embarrassed but he stripped naked anyways. "Makes me think of how it was in the war," he said. "When we all used to bathe together in the river, when we were in the French countryside." He paused and then looked at Bucky, suddenly full of mirth. "Remember when that turtle bit Dum-Dum--"

"Right on the ass," Bucky finished. He let out a bark of laughter, stepping into the water. Steve was right beside him, and Bucky kept his gaze strictly above the waist, their eyes meeting, bright and warm with nostalgia, as they recalled the memory together. "God, the way he was hollering…"

"He must have woken up half the countryside." Steve chuckled. "I'm surprised the Nazis didn't descend on us right then and there."

They walked deeper into the lake. The water was warm, but still refreshing after spending all morning working under the hot sun. When the water came up to Bucky's waist, he sank down, treading lazily. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes as he remembered. The way Dum-Dum had shouted and practically flew out of the water, naked as the day he was born and clutching his backside. They way they'd all laughed about it for days after, clinging to that small moment of humor and cameradie amid the hellishness of war.

Bucky hadn't thought about the Howling Commandos in a long time. He felt ashamed. They'd been brothers. They had seen each other at their very best and at their very worst. They had killed and wept and laughed together. They had been more than a team -- they had been family.

And, while it had been decades since Bucky felt such kinship, it occurred to him that Steve _had_ managed to find it for himself again, fighting with the Avengers. He understood suddenly now -- Steve's reluctance to be away from them wasn't just about his self-imposed burden of saving the world. Steve _loved_ them. Just as he'd loved the Commandos.

This realization wasn't enough to change his mind -- he still thought Steve needed to get away from it all, _deserved_ to get away from it all. But he understood better now what he would be asking of Steve.

They stayed in the water for a while, lingering in the reprieve from the sweltering humidity. Bucky knew, though, he had to get back to his chores soon, so once Steve seemed like he had a bit more energy in him, Bucky made his way out of the water and onto the beach, Steve following. They didn't have towels, so Bucky got to drying off the way he liked best -- laying flat on his back on the sand, closing his eyes, and letting the sun take care of it.

Steve joined him; even with his eyes shut, Bucky could feel the sand shifting beside him. He tried not to let his thoughts wander when it came to his awareness that he and Steve were completely naked and laying only inches from one another.

They were silent for a long while. Until Steve let out a sigh so quiet Bucky didn't think he would have heard it if it wasn't for his enhanced hearing.

"You really love it here, huh?"

"Yeah, Steve," he said, the truth of it bleeding out of him like a wound. "I do."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that thing where a guy is automatically 10x more attractive when you see he's good with children? Yeah that's how I imagine Bucky feels when he sees Steve with the goats lmao
> 
> For anyone wondering, Bucky's goats are named after Ingrid Bergman, Vivien Leigh, Clark Gable, Ginger Rogers, and Judy Garland.


	5. Yellow

A week passed since Steve first came to stay with Bucky, and each morning, without fail, he woke up with Bucky pressed against his side and his arm slung across his middle. He didn't let himself think much of it -- Bucky had always been a sprawler when he slept, and as soon as Steve's medication alarm went off, Bucky would move away. So, a little pathetically, Steve never let on that he was awake before then. He liked the solid warmth of Bucky's skin on his, liked the secure feeling of his arm against him.

Their routine each day went much like the first: tending to the goats, picking mangoes, cooling off in the lake, sharing quiet meals together. Twice, Steve spent the afternoon in Birnin Zana, where he had his physical therapy sessions and medical check-ups with Shuri. He felt better every day. His breaths were easier. He could go longer in the orchard before Bucky insisted they stopped to rest. But, as his scoliosis symptoms lessened, his back pain increased. Shuri assured him this was normal -- the vibranium implants were really doing their work now, shifting his spine and muscles.

Still, it didn't stop him from helping Bucky each day with the chores. He never could stand being idle -- it was why he took up drawing when he was a kid, always stuck in bed sick -- and it pleased him to see the literal fruits of his labor stacked up when Bucky brought a cartful of mangoes to the marketplace each day. Still, as fulfilling as it was to be doing good, honest work, Steve couldn't deny the true treason he spent each day with a warm feeling rooted in his chest.

He loved watching Bucky. Loved the way he doted on his goats. Loved how carefully he tended to his orchard. Loved the way smiles and laughter came so easy as they worked alongside each other, trading stories and banter.

Once, on the fourth day of his stay, Steve tried to pet Clark while he was nursing from his mother, and the nanny goat, in all her maternal ferocity, let out an ear-splitting bleat and nearly bit Steve's finger off. Bucky, who'd been watching the whole scene unfold, actually stopped milking his own goat and collapsed backwards onto the grass, laughing so hard that honest-to-God tears started streaming down his face.

As Steve watched him have his fit of amusement, he was overcome suddenly by how much he _loved_ him. He felt it in his whole body, heartbeat thumping and legs shaking. He would goad Ingrid into snapping at him a thousand times in a row if he could keep that look of unrestrained joy on Bucky's face.

So. Steve was enjoying their daily routine. And, after a week, he assumed he'd seen just about everything that Bucky did with his time. But, during breakfast that morning, he was proven wrong.

"Today is _Usuku Lokophumla_. Day of Rest. Basically Wakanda's version of the Sabbath," Bucky said as he spread jam on the last bite of his sweetbread. He bit his lip, looking suddenly self-conscious. "We'll feed and milk the goats like usual, but after that I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to the Temple of Bast?"

Steve blinked, surprised. Bucky had never really been one for religious ceremony -- it used to be like pulling teeth to get him out of bed for Sunday Mass. But, then again, there were a lot of things that were different about Bucky now, and so far, each new revelation had been a joy to discover.

"Sure," Steve replied, smiling.

After the goats were fed and milked (without incident this time), they went back inside the hut, and Steve watched, curious, as Bucky pulled some ceramic pots from one of the shelves.

"You have to paint your face a certain way for ritual," Bucky explained. "Sit down. I'll do yours."

Steve obeyed, growing more bemused by the second. Bucky removed the lid from one of the jars and dipped a finger in, coating the digit with black pigment. He began marking Steve's face, explaining as he went.

"Black is for connecting with the Panther Goddess." Bucky drew two lines just above the arches of Steve's eyebrows. "So you can see one another."  He drew a line along both his temples, near his earlobes. "So you can hear each other." He replaced the lid on the jar of black paint and gave Steve a considering look. "You're supposed to paint your lips with the color of what you want to ask of Bast. Red for strength. Blue for wisdom. Yellow for peace."

"Red," Steve said almost immediately and an upset look crossed Bucky's face, though he made no comment as he dipped his finger in one of the jars to coat it in red paint. He moved his finger over Steve's lips, slow and gentle. Steve shivered at the touch -- it felt strangely intimate and chided himself for the arousal that stirred inside him.

"The last thing is," Buck said, "you paint your hands with what you offer in return for your request. What you'll use to do what Bast asks of you and bring good into the world. Red for your body. Blue for your mind. Yellow for your heart."

Steve considered for a moment. A year ago, when the serum still flowed in his veins, his answer would have been easy, but in its current state, his body wasn't good for much. And he certainly didn't have a mind like Tony or Shuri, who could manifest their goodwill in algorithms and inventions.

"Yellow," Steve said, and for some reason, that made Bucky smile. He took each of Steve's hands in his and drew yellow spirals on his palms.

With Steve finished, Bucky set to work on himself. He chose yellow for his lips and red for his hands. The yellow, Steve expected -- peace was all Bucky had wished for since 1943. But the red surprised him; he thought Bucky would have had enough of his body being used for the will of forces great than himself. But then he remembered the how Bucky used his strength to effortlessly reach the highest branches of his mango trees. How he could entertain the village children for hours with piggyback rides.

Sufficiently decorated, they left the hut and made their way to the temple. At first, they headed in the direction of the village, but rather than continuing east, they turned north at one point, heading into the jungle. After a few more moments of walking, Steve realized he couldn't even tell anymore which way they'd come from. Bucky, though, seemed to know exactly where he was going as he led them deeper into the forest until they reached a clearing and Steve found himself staring up at a massive vibranium structure. The temple itself was of a simple architecture, long with an arched roof and a single open entrance where Steve could villagers were filing in, their faces and hands painted with the same patterns Bucky had shown him. Two massive panther statues flanked the entrance, carved with such intricate detail that Steve couldn't help pausing to admire them as he and Bucky made their way inside.

While the outside was simple, the interior was anything but. Each wall was covered, floor to ceiling, with tapestries depicting various scenes in Wakandan mythology. Bast leading an army of panthers across a green field. The first Black Panther receiving the Heart-Shaped Herb. And dozens of others Steve wasn't familiar with but found them beautifully rendered all the same; he was giving himself whiplash, turning his head back and forth to see them all. There was no place to sit in the large, open room; the congregation all kneeled on plush mats facing the the front of the room where an idol of Bast towered above them all, draped in colorful, intricately embroidered cloth.

There were no real rows, but Bucky led them to a spot near the back of the room, behind everyone else. Still, even as inconspicuous as were attempting to be, that didn't stop N'Toba and N'Dele from shrieking, " _Ingcuka ne Ngonyama!_ " as they passed by, earning a shush from their mother and a chuckle from Bucky.  

The ceremony started shortly after that, when a tall, heavy-set woman wearing flowing purple robes stepped onto the dias in front of the panther statue and broke into song. The lyrics were all in Xhosa, so Steve didn't understand a word of it, but the priestess had a voice like honey and the tune was slow and reverent, equal parts sweet and sad. Behind her, a group elders beat small wooden drums to the same rhythm. Everyone gathered sang along, loud and true. Steve felt the ground below him vibrating with the timbre of it all.

Beside him, Bucky joined in the song. He'd always had a nice voice -- Steve remembered the way he used to croon along to the radio every night, like he was Bing fucking Crosby -- and the foreign syllables came without stumble from his lips. The most striking part though, was how _sincere_ Bucky was about the whole thing. He faced forward, gaze locked on the idol of Bast as he sang, clear and honest.

When the song finished a few moments later, Bucky half-turned to Steve and muttered, "That was _Ukuhamba_ , a farewell to anyone who passed away this week."

Another song started right away, this one fast and loud, as jubilant as the previous was mournful. Steve bowed his head, transfixed by the whole thing, by the way it all felt so _alive_. It was nothing like the stuffy formality of the Catholic Masses from his youth -- everyone in the temple sang and worshiped without restraint, singing loudly and with their faces full of emotion as they moved their shoulders and heads in time to the music.

Bucky turned to him again when the song ended. " _Mbulelo_ ," he said. "A thank you to Bast for the good things that happened."

It went on like that for the next hour, song after song, no two quite the same as they expressed the full spectrum of emotion to their goddess. After a song that was more drum beats than vocals, the congregation began to stand and file out of the temple.

"That was the end?" Steve asked. The entire thing had just been song after song; not once did the priestess address them or lead a prayer.

Bucky just nodded, helping Steve to his feet as he winced from the back pain that had slowly been growing over the hour he'd just spent on his knees.

As they walked through the jungle back to Bucky's hut, Steve considered what he'd just experienced. It was a beautiful ceremony, there was no denying that. The tapestries, the songs, the sheer _adoration_ that was expressed so plainly by each patron… it was like nothing he'd ever seen. And most striking of all was _Bucky_ , worshipping as genuinely and passionately as any of the Wakandans.

"Shuri told me to go, at first," Bucky began, as if he could read Steve mind and knew exactly what he'd been wondering. "Said it would be good for my recovery, engaging with the community or something like that. I went along with it because, well, she's a goddamned genius so I figured she knew what was what. So it started out as just something to do. But, then I learned the songs and the painting and what it was all about, and I don't know, it's just nice. Feels good to go."

"Do you believe in..." _Bast? God?_ Steve trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. He didn't even know where he stood himself; it was hard to stay true to his Catholic upbringing when one of his best friends was the God of Thunder and he'd spent the better part of a year tracking down magical cosmic stones.

Bucky laughed, rueful. "I don't know, Steve. I just… I guess I just like the idea of someone out there having my back. That if I do my part and look after my land and the people around me, that I can trust Bast or God or whoever to make sure things will turn out alright."

"I'm surprised. After everything that happened to you, I would have thought…" Steve's next words caught in his throat. _I would have thought you don't believe in God._

Thankfully, Bucky seemed to understand exactly what he was getting at, giving Steve a half smile as he said, "That's just it though. All that crap happened and _I'm still here_. Alive and healed with my best friend next to me, as impossible as it should be."

Steve just gave Bucky a smile, not saying anything. He didn't have the words for the warmth that spread inside him at the implication that his and Bucky's impossible reunion was divine intervention.

  


That night, Steve woke suddenly, and at first, he didn't know why. Even with his back pain, he usually slept through the night without issue. He strained his ears, listening for what could have woken him. But there were no animals outside or any sign of disturbance coming from the village. He was about to settle back to sleep when he heard a low noise. A whimper.

Beside him, Bucky was laying on his side, curled up tight and trembling as he kept on making pained noises.

"Bucky," Steve whispered, not wanting to wake him too suddenly. He put a hand on his arm, shaking him gently. "Bucky, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

Bucky's eyes snapped open suddenly and he jerked backwards, gasping. In the dim moonlight, Steve could see his face was streaked with tears.

"Fuck," he was saying, voice hoarse. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ "

"Buck, you're okay," Steve said, trying to be as soothing as he knew how. "It was just a nightmare."

" _Fuck_ ," Bucky said again, rubbing his eyes. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'll sleep on the couch, so I don't wake you..." He made to get up, and without a thought, Steve grabbed his vibranium hand, stopping him.

"Stay," Steve said, settling down to go back to sleep. Bucky looked uncertain, but after a moment, he did the same, laying back down, still letting Steve hold his hand. Steve didn't know what possessed him to do it, but once they were both settled, he brought Bucky's hand up and held it against his chest, interlacing their fingers. He could feel him still shaking. "You're alright. I've got you."

Bucky didn't say anything just let out a ragged breath and gripped Steve's hand tight. Steve laid awake, staring up at the ceiling as the listened to Bucky's breathing go from shallow panting to the low evenness that meant he was asleep.

Steve thought about Bucky's lips painted earlier that day, the color bright and golden as sunshine. A wordless prayer.

_Yellow for peace._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to express my gratitude for everyone who has been following this story and leaving such lovely comments. This was a super busy week since I had to do a lot of academic writing for a fellowship proposal, so it really is so nice to be able to take the time to work on this story and write creatively instead and all your feedback has been so encouraging. <3
> 
> (Also is there a color I can paint my lips to ask Bast for the Avengers 4 trailer because seriously Marvel, we're dying here!)


	6. An Interruption

Bucky woke pressed up close to Steve. It was the same position he'd woken up in every morning the past week, but this time, he had his hand resting on Steve's chest, with Steve's fingers overlayed on top of his. His vibranium prosthetic had full sensitivity, so he he could feel the warmth of Steve's palm against the back of his hand, the rise and fall of Steve's chest with each breath.

He cringed, remembering the previous night. The nightmare had been a bad one, one of his worst in a while. They still happened sometimes, though not nearly as often as when he'd first broken out of Hydra's brainwashing immediately after D.C.. Shuri said it was normal as his brain continued to heal and his memories were coming back, but that didn't make the images of blood and corpses he saw behind his eyelids any less horrifying.

And then there was Steve, taking his hand and telling him it was alright. Just that simple gesture had been everything Bucky needed. A lifeline to keep him from drowning in his own terror.

The alarm for Steve's medications went off, and normally, this was the part where Bucky would roll way from Steve, pretending like he _hadn't_ just spent the past few minutes indulging in the feeling of warm, skin to skin contact with the other man. This morning though, Bucky couldn't bring himself to engage in the farce. He felt better than he had immediately after the nightmare, but the unease within him still lingered and Steve's closeness was a comfort.

Bucky watched as Steve blinked his eyes open and switched off the kimoyo bead with his left hand, still keeping his right clasped over Bucky's fingers. He made no move to get up, and they laid in silence for a few moments, neither of them looking at the other. Bucky knew what this would look like to an outside observer, the two of them laying together half-naked in the early morning light. But, surprisingly, Bucky felt no awkwardness. He needed comfort, needed the solid feeling of his best friend's presence. And Steve seemed willing to oblige, laying still and relaxed in their loose embrace.

After a moment, Steve shifted a little, turning his head to look Bucky in the eyes for the first time since they'd both been awake.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Bucky nodded because, even if he wasn't quite yet, he knew he would be in the coming hours.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Bucky sighed. "I get nightmares. Mostly about when Hydra had me. Sometimes about the war. Last night, though, it was both. I was in the war but I had..." His metal fingers jerked, the motion involuntary, and Steve pressed his hand firm against them. Bucky didn't go on, knowing Steve would understand how a dream of being back in the war was made a hundred times worse with the added horror of having the metal arm Hydra outfitted him with.

"I'm sorry," Steve told him, so damned sincere it made Bucky's throat tighten.

Tamping down the feelings of aching need that were starting to push their way to the surface, Bucky sat up.

"Come on," he said. Reluctant as he was to be out of Steve's embrace, he'd learned it never did any good to wallow in bed after a nightmare. "Goats need feeding."

Steve's expression fell but he said nothing, getting up and taking his medications while Bucky washed up and dressed. They followed their usual routine the rest of the morning, and as he knew he would, Bucky felt better with each passing hour. The snowy battlefield and cacophony of screams and gunshots felt further and further away with each moment he spent under the hot Wakandan sun in the easy company of his goats and Steve. It was quieter between them than usual, but the silence wasn't really an uneasy one. Steve was unbothered by Bucky's reticent mood, making the occasional remark about the goats or the weather without expecting Bucky to reply. By the time the goats were fed and they'd moved on to the orchard, Bucky felt more like himself.

The stopped to eat at their usual time, resting side by side against one of the mango trees, sharing slices of fruit and the sandwiches they packed.

"I have dreams about the war too, sometimes," Steve said, breaking the familiar silence that had settled between them as they ate. Their shoulders were touching; Bucky could feel the breath Steve let out after he spoke.

Bucky bit into the mango he was holding, chewing slow, relishing the sweetness. He swallowed. "All you can do is tell yourself it's over, that you never have to go back. Doesn't stop the nightmares from happening but...it does make it easier to wake up."

Steve smiled sadly. He seemed about to reply but then his gaze shifted suddenly, looking at something over Bucky's shoulder. Bucky turned around and saw someone approaching from the direction of his hut. A slim figure wearing all black. Red hair.

"Nat?" Steve squinted, getting up and moving toward their visitor. As they got closer Bucky could see it was indeed Romanoff. He felt immediately unsettled; her unannounced visit couldn't mean good news.

"I asked some nice folks in the village to point me toward the senior center," she said, coming up to them, smirking. "Guess I found the right place."

"It's good to see you too," Steve said, shaking his head as he moved forward to give Romanoff a hug.

She gave Steve a peck on the cheek and then turned to Bucky. "Barnes," she greeted, looking at him with a curious expression that made Bucky feel like he was being tested. She always looked at him like that.

"Romanoff," he replied. Their eyes met, both of them assessing. Since he'd come back to himself he had never been quite sure what to make of her. He remembered her as Natalia, a protegee among the countless girls the Winter Soldier had trained in the Red Room. But that hadn't been him, not really, and she was a different person now too. They'd only interacted a handful of times in the present day -- not counting the instances where Bucky hadn't been in his own mind -- but Bucky thought he could sense a wary trust burgeoning between them. At the very least, she'd proven her loyalty to Steve, and that was enough to put her in Bucky's good graces.

"What are you doing here, Nat?" Steve asked.

"Couldn't let this get lost in the mail," she said, handing him a card embossed with metallic patterns and fancy calligraphy written across it. Bucky leaned over Steve's shoulder and realized it was an invitation for _Mr. Steven G. Rogers_ to attend the wedding ceremony of _Anthony Edward Stark_ and _Virginia Marie Potts_.

"They finally set a new date, huh?" Steve said, staring down at the invitation with a faraway look, happy and proud.

Bucky just felt sick, flashbacks coming unbidden. A winding road. The impact of his gleaming fist against his wartime friend's skull. A woman's broken moans as she cried out for her husband.

"You came all this way to give me a wedding invitation?" Steve asked, eyebrow raised. Bucky could tell his initial joy at seeing Romanoff and the wedding invitation had faded into the same skepticism Bucky had the moment he'd seen her coming across the orchard. Natasha Romanoff didn't do social calls.

"Not just you. T'Challa gets one too. You think Tony was gonna pass up the chance to have an actual king at his wedding?"

Steve narrowed his eyes. And then something must have clicked because he said, voice carefully even, "How's the situation in Uganda?"

"We've got it handled," she said slowly, matching his tone. "We're getting help from someone familiar with the local terrain."

"That someone wouldn't happen to be the vibranium-suit-wearing king of the neighboring country, would it?" Steve's gaze flicked toward the horizon, where the hazy outline of Birnin Zana was visible.

"Like I said, we have it handled," Romanoff said firmly and Bucky felt newfound respect for her. He could tell Steve's mind was going a mile a minute, trying to work out how he could help with the situation happening just over the border, and Bucky was glad someone besides him was of the opinion that it wasn't Steve's problem to worry about.

Steve, however, wasn't easily dissuaded. "Who else is here?"

Romanoff sighed, resigned. "I came to brief T'Challa. Sam's already across the border undercover. We'll rendezvous with him later today." She glanced down at her wrist piece and then back up at Steve. "I've got to head to the city. I just wanted to stop by and see how you're doing."

"Nat--"

"Look," she said, expression softening. "I'll let you know when everything's done and we're all okay." She gave his shoulder a gentle touch and then turned away.

Bucky came up to stand next to Steve as he watched Romanoff's retreating figure. The guilt and frustration emanating from him was almost tangible.

"They have this," Bucky told him.

"I have my PT appointment later today," Steve said, not looking at Bucky as he brushed past him and picked up his mango basket, starting up picking again. "While I'm in the city, I'm gonna have Shuri take me to mission control."

Bucky didn't reply, unsure of what to say. He understood that this was Steve's team, his _family_ , and he couldn't blame him one bit for wanting to know what was happening. But on the other hand, in the time they'd been staying together, Bucky could see Steve's guilt at being away lessen with each passing day, and he was afraid that Steve going to mission control and being involved with his team like that again would undo that progress. What if Steve's guilt returned so strong that that he would cut his stay in Wakanda short and go back to the Avengers Facility? It would mean Bucky had failed in his mission to show Steve that he deserved rest and peace.

He was torn, knowing Steve was right to want to be there for his team but also terrified of the ways Steve getting involved again might set back his physical and emotional recovery. So in the end, Bucky said nothing at all. Mostly because he knew it wouldn't matter regardless; once Steve made up his mind about something, there was no changing it.

They continued their work in silence until Steve's kimoyo bead made a soft trilling sound, signaling it was time for him to make his way to the village to catch the shuttle that went into the city. Steve emptied his basket of mangoes into the larger cart, and Bucky climbed down from the tree he was up in.

"I'll be back tonight, Buck."

Bucky just nodded, and then, after a moment of hesitation, said, "This mission. You know it's not your responsibility."

Steve's jaw was clenched, mouth set into a stubborn line. It was an expression that Bucky loved and hated with equal measure.

"It's my team," was all Steve said before turning away and leaving Bucky alone among the mango trees.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than usual. This week was craaazy busy as it's getting close to the end of the semester and I had lots of assignments and a fellowship proposal to write :P
> 
> Next chapter, we'll see how Steve fares in mission control.


	7. Set Free

Shuri looked Steve up and down, scrutinizing.

"She told you, didn't she? _Bast-demethi_! I told her not to tell you!"

"I need you to take me to the command center" Steve said, ignoring the princess's exasperation. "This mission in Uganda -- we've been tracking the Hydra weapon sales there for months, and I have to know --"

"Don't you come barging in my lab, demanding I take you places!"

"I'm not barging in; I have an appointment for PT!"

"Exactly. PT. Not mission control." Shuri turned away and pulled over a rack of small dumbell weights Steve had been using the past few sessions. She pointed to the short, padded bench against the wall. "Sit. We'll start with the normal exercises."

"Shuri--"

"I'm not going to bring an unauthorized, foreign agent into our command center--"

"'Foreign agent'...Shuri, it's _me_ ," Steve tried to interject, but she cut him off again.

"-especially not one who is incapable of following basic instructions like, _getting some rest_ and _avoiding stressful situations_."

"Come on, I just want to watch the video feed and listen in on the comms." He let the fight drain from him, leaving only desperation in his expression. "Please."

They stared at each other, unblinking and unyielding. Until Shuri crossed her arms, threw her head back, and groaned. She tapped a rapid series of commands into the computer console in front of her, and suddenly, a video projection appeared in the air before them. On the display, Steve could see aerial footage of the jungle, though it looked like it was being taken through the cockpit of a jet. The way the camera was positioned and moving, it looked like it was attached to someone's head.

Natasha's voice came over the feed, _"-just checked on the tracker. Sam and Nakia are on the move, right on schedule."_

The camera moved, giving Steve a view of Natasha in the copilot seat of a Wakandan-style jet.

" _Good. We should be arriving in a few moments._ " T'Challa's voice..

"That feed -- it's from your brother's suit?"

Shuri nodded. "Yes. Everything T'Challa sees or hears, we will too."

Steve glanced at the display, now back to the jungle view as T'Challa returned to flying, and then turned back to Shuri.

"Thank you."

She clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes. "You're lucky I have a soft spot for pathetic white boys. Now go do your exercises!"

Steve obeyed this time, picking up two weights from the bottom of the rack and started lifting. He'd been to a few sessions already in the past week, so the routine was familiar now. Above him, a round scanner cast him in soft blue light as Shuri recorded readings for his heartbeat, blood pressure, and probably a thousand other measurements he wouldn't even know existed much less how to interpret them. He kept his eyes fixed on T'Challa's feed, though nothing interesting was happening. Yet.

The team had been monitoring the situation in Uganda for weeks. When Thanos snapped his fingers, the country's president at the time had been among those turned to dust. So, when he came back after Steve's sacrifice, the nation became divided as half the people called for their old leader to be reinstated while the rest were loyal to the current president. It wasn't a particularly unique situation in the aftermath of everyone coming back. Lots of institutions -- and people for that matter -- were confronted with the dilemma of what to do when people they'd resigned to never see again suddenly returned.

The Avengers were involved in this particular situation because they'd received word that Hydra was selling weapons to the extremist groups that had formed on both sides of the conflict -- essentially ensuring that no matter how things ended up shaking out, they'd end up with power and influence in the winning regime. The team wasn't sure why, out of all the power struggles happening around the globe, Hydra had chosen to involve themselves in the Uganda situation, but they suspected it had to do with the country's close proximity to Wakanda and its coveted resources.

"What's the plan?" Steve asked, eyes still fixed on the video projection.

"Sam and Nakia are posing as black market vibranium dealers who want to sell to Hydra. They're on the way to their weapons manufacturing plant right now to make a delivery of vibranium that I've forged specially with a nanotransmitter that disabled the metal's special properties _and_ allows us to track its location."

"And Natasha and T'Challa?"

"They're in a cloaked jet following Sam and Nakia's truck. When they get to the plant--"

"They'll take the key players into custody, destroy the plant, but leave the tagged vibranium so we can keep tracing their distributions."

Steve said it because it was the plan he himself would have come up with, and from the way Shuri was narrowing her eyes at him, he must have surmised it exactly.

"Use the eight pound weights," was all she said to him.

Steve kept on with his exercises until he heard Natasha's voice over the speaker:

_"Truck's stopped. Six miles north."_

At that, T'Challa reduced speed and angled the jet downward steadily until they were hovering just above the treetops. Through the cockpit window, Steve could see a long cement building tucked away in the dense jungle. A rusted black pick-up truck was parked outside and Steve could just make out a cluster of figures standing around. Sam and Nakia, facing a handful of Hydra goons.

 _"You're up, Your Highness,"_ Natasha said, and T'Challa stood up, moved to the back of the jet, and opened the back hatch. Steve could hear the hum of the jet's engine, could see the jungle below them, vast and never-ending like a sea of green, hundreds of feet below. He'd been in that same position a hundred times, shield strapped to his back, body braced for the drop into action. All of that was so far away, but watching it through T'Challa's eyes, he could feel his heart thumping in his chest, the echoes of thrill and adrenaline pulsing through him.

He set the barbell down, and Shuri didn't even chide him because she too was staring at the screen, watching with awe as T'Challa leapt from the jet and landed beside Sam and Nakia, lithe and graceful.

The Hydra goons opened fire at once, but of course it had no effect, the impact just absorbing into the suit and T'Challa was able to disarm the first wave of them without trouble. Sam and Nakia sprang into action at once, drawing their weapons and felling Hydra soldiers as they spilled out of the plant like wasps from a disturbed hive.

It was hard to follow all of the action, only seeing T'Challa's perspective, but at one point, T'Challa looked up and Steve caught a glimpse something glinting metallic in the setting sunlight. A winged figure.

Steve's heart swelled with pride, even as he ached with wistful longing, watching Sam soar above the firefight in that familiar red, white, and blue.

The rest of the mission felt almost tortuous to watch, not because of any jealousy toward Sam or anything going wrong, but simply because it was agony to just _watch_ . It was worse than when he was at mission control at the Facility -- at least there he was tapped into the comms and had some semblance of authority, could make some decisions. This though, upset him right to the core. Because he couldn't communicate a damn thing, couldn't take a single meaningful action, and it went _perfectly_.

By the time, Natasha landed the jet for extraction and T'Challa, Sam, and Nakia boarded with two Hydra agents in tow, Steve was left with an awful dread settling in his heart.

They didn't need him.

Subconsciously, he'd known that for a while, known it since he'd become small and frail again. But he'd kept that truth at bay the past year, refusing to miss a single mission at the Facility. Until his health had reached its breaking point. Until Bucky had tapped into his most selfish, desperate wish and asked him to stay in Wakanda.

And now there was no more running from the truth. Not when he'd just watched the evidence of it so plainly.

They didn't need him.

It hit him like a physical blow. He felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut loose. He was unmoored, drifting without purpose or direction.

"Ha! I told T'Challa increasing the force capacity on his suit was a good idea! Did you see how far that _inja_ flew when my broth punched him?" Shuri waved her hand, clearing away the video display that had been showing T'Challa's view of the cockpit as he flew home. Shuri frowned when she turned and caught sight of Steve. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said automatically, sitting up straight as he could and pushing down the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "Yeah. I- um, I should head back. Thank you."

Before she could pry further, he got up and left the lab, hurrying out to the shuttle back to the Border Tribe village. Back to the hut by the lake. Back to Bucky.

 

*

 

After Steve left him in the orchard, Bucky found himself unable to get any more work done, so he went back up to his hut with the cart of mangos in tow. After unloading his harvest, he made his way down to the lake, stripping naked as he walked down the path. He waded into the water, going out until his feet couldn't touch bottom anymore and he let himself float on his back.

It was ridiculous, how lonely he felt in that moment. He'd been in solitude in Wakanda for _years_ , ever since coming out of Shuri's cryochamber. But then, Steve had come, and his presence lit up Bucky's world like sunshine coming in through clouds -- clouds that had been there so long Bucky hadn't even realized they weren't the real sky. And then Steve had gone. Barrelling toward the fight, heedless of what it would do to his own heart, heedless of Bucky's protests.

It was pathetic, so god damned embarrassing that he didn't even want to admit it in his own head, but Bucky felt abandoned. He thought he'd been making progress with Steve, shown him that he could be happy, that he could _rest_. But the illusion of his hope was shattered the instant Natasha Romanoff set foot on his land with news of a mission, and it was like the past week had never happened as Steve hurried off toward a fight that wasn't his responsibility. Whether it was their shoebox apartment in Brooklyn or his peaceful Wakanda retreat, all Bucky ever wanted to do was give Steve a safe haven. And he'd failed yet again.

" _Fuck_ ," Bucky whispered to himself. Sick of wallowing in his own contrition, he sat up and swam back to shore. He dried off and got dressed quickly -- he didn't feel like laying out in the sun like he usually did, knowing he would just end up thinking about how much he wanted Steve next to him.

He walked through the forest, toward his hut, and then past it, his feet taking him across the grasslands to the village. He didn't know what possessed him to go there. His subconscious perhaps, telling him he shouldn't be alone in his distress. That voice in his head tended to sound a lot like Shuri.

He found himself wandering the marketplace, losing himself in the chatter around him, the bright colors, the aroma of sweets and hot food. It reminded him of Brooklyn, strange as that was. The old-timers sitting around smoking and talking bullshit. Ladies walking arm-in-arm, giggling together. Children running and screaming. The actors and backdrop were different, but it was still the same scene.

Bucky had made his way to the end of the market, almost ready to turn back, when something caught his eye. Jars of paint for sale, stacked up high together, bright and colorful. It made him pause, and he realized the merchant was selling a whole array of artist's supplies. Ink, pencils, charcoal. Brushes and canvases and sheets of paper of all sizes.

He thought of Steve. When was the last time he'd seen him draw? It certainly wasn't in this century.

His fingers brushed one of the sketchbooks on display, a simple thing with a black leather cover, spiral bound. Today may have been a step backwards, but he wasn't about to give up on Steve.

 _"Yimalini?"_ he asked the merchant. _How much?_

  


Bucky didn't go home after making his purchase. Instead, he made the short trek through the jungle to the Temple of Bast. At the entrance, he used the provided pigments to decorate his face and hands. It was empty inside; his footsteps echoed softly as he walked to the head of the chamber to kneel before the panther idol.

He was silent, unable to find the words for his prayers, none of the Xhosa hymns quite fitting the hopes and desires he had tucked away in his heart.

So he was silent, hoping that Bast or God or whoever would hear him anyway.

He couldn't say how long he'd been kneeling there -- the minutes could have stretched to hours -- when suddenly footsteps and an uncertain voice broke the silence.

"Bucky?"

He turned to see Steve coming through the entryway. He looked dazed and haggard. Bucky was on his feet at once, going to him.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." Steve let out a breath, shifting his expression to hide the hurt Bucky had already seen. "Yeah. The mission was a success. They're on their way back now with two captured Hydra leaders."

Bucky said nothing, waiting. He knew that Steve knew he was expecting him to elaborate, to explain the ashen look on his face.

"They don't need me anymore," Steve said at last. The words came out slow and hollow, almost uncertain, like Steve couldn't quite believe this truth -- even though it had been so for over a year already. He looked lost, adrift, and Bucky wanted to take him by the shoulders, shake him and tell him this truth didn't mean he'd been cast off -- it meant he'd been set _free_.

But he did none of that. Because Steve wasn't ready to hear it, wasn't ready to accept it yet. Instead, he reached down into his pack and pulled out the sketchbook and pencil set he'd purchased earlier, holding them out to Steve.

"I saw these in the marketplace today. Thought of you."

Steve's eyes were wide as he accepted the gift. He turned the sketchbook over in his hands, thumbing through the pages. He looked up at Bucky, smiling.

"Thank you, Buck." And then Bucky couldn't say who moved forward first, but a second later, he found himself with an armful of Steve as they held each other in a tight hug. He felt Steve loosen in his embrace, the day's tension melting out of him; it made Bucky hold him tighter.

When they pulled away from each other, long after what was probably appropriate, Steve was staring at Bucky's lips. He felt suddenly self-conscious, and for an absurd moment, he thought Steve was about to--

"The white," Steve said. "What does it mean?"

Right. The ritual paint. In addition to the usual yellow on his lips to convey a plea for peace, he'd also outlined his mouth with white.

He told Steve, "White means you're praying for someone else."

.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next week (12/16) there will NOT be an update. Chapter 8 will arrive on the following Sunday (12/23). This is for a couple reasons:
> 
> 1\. This next week is extremely busy as the semester is coming to a close and I have some final things to wrap up with my research project. Also, I need to dedicate some time to writing fics for the "Marvel Trumps Hate" auction and a holiday exchange.  
> 2\. Albymangroves is working on an illustration for Chapter 9 of this fic, and I want to be able to post that chapter with the accompanying art so I'm spacing my updates accordingly. 
> 
> Thank you all so so much for your patience! Your love and support in the comments means so much<3
> 
> Also, because the Tumblr Terms of Service are absolute nonsense now, I have made accounts on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/amethystk219/) and [Dreamwidth](https://amethystkrystal.dreamwidth.org/).


	8. Sweet and Burning

Steve's first drawing was of the village children, having run into them after he and Bucky left the Temple. They were climbing the trees on edge of Bucky's homestead, and something about the way their forms silhouetted against the sunset sky called to Steve's newly resurfacing inner-artist.

So, while Bucky prepared supper, Steve planted himself on the grass and drew. He hadn't picked up a pencil to draw in years, but the motions came easily as ever, like he'd never stopped. Getting the lines and shading just the way he wanted demanded his whole attention, and for that he was glad. He'd had enough wallowing over the truth of his own uselessness. 

He kept on drawing in the days after that, inspired by everyone and everything around him. He liked drawing the children for their vast range of expressions -- they could go from untameable laughter to hysterical crying in an instant. He liked drawing the goats because being a city boy his whole life never allowed for much practice with animals. He liked drawing the mango trees and the mountains and the lakeshore because even after all these weeks, the idyllic beauty of Wakanda's countryside still captivated him.

He drew Bucky, too. In all kinds of states, for all kinds of reasons. He drew him giving the children piggyback rides. Hand-feeding his favorite goat a treat. Sitting in the orchard, biting into a mango. The gilded patterning on his arm. Countless detailed studies of his hands, his eyes, his hair. 

That was something familiar from before the war, the way his hopeless pining sprang out of him whenever his pencil touched the page. In all the decades he loved Bucky, he'd liked to think he kept a pretty good lid on his feelings. But, when it came to his drawing, he was hopeless.

Bucky knew he was Steve's favorite muse, giving him a soft and fond sort of grin whenever he caught Steve staring with his sketchbook in hand. It was the same expression he wore whenever Steve drew him before the war, and just like back then, the light in Bucky's eyes lasted for hours after he realized he was the subject of Steve's drawing.

So, Bucky knew about all his drawings. Except for one.

Steve couldn't say what possessed him to do it. He'd never lost control of his own longing quite like this before. But, one afternoon, as he watched Bucky emerge from the lake after their usual swim, Steve thought,  _ I need to draw this.  _

He should have dismissed it, shoved the thought away like he had so many others. But maybe it was the light that day, bright and warm as it shone down on Bucky's bare skin and glinted off the gold in his arm. Or maybe it was Bucky's posture, lax and strong at the same time. Or it could have been the tantalizing trail of dark hair that ran from his navel to where his cock hung soft between his legs. 

Steve may have been pathetic beyond hope, but Bucky coming out of the water was a sight that demanded to be drawn.

He couldn't do it right there, of course, having no drawing materials on hand and not wanting to make his perversion obvious. So he committed the sight to memory as best he could, and later that evening, while Bucky was at the market, Steve drew. 

The details weren't exact, but that was okay. He made sure to capture the most important parts: Bucky's contented expression, the relaxed way he held his body, the beauty of his left arm glinting in the sun, the perfect length of his cock. It was the most intimate drawing he'd ever done. It was a love letter without words.

When he finished, he slammed the sketchbook shut and tucked it in his clothes chest, not daring to let himself stare at it too long, knowing he would just end up with a mix of shame and want in his gut. 

The days afterwards passed slow and easy like honey, the hours filled with farm work and PT and quiet nights with Bucky. Steve did end up picking up the sketchbook again, though he deliberately opened up to a fresh page and didn't allow himself even a glance at the drawing of Bucky coming out of the lake. As the days passed, Steve's affection for the languid lifestyle in Wakanda's countryside grew and slowly overtook the sting of his revelation after watching the Uganda mission. He could see why this life was so good for Bucky; nobody asked anything of him except what he offered freely. But still, for Steve, something inside him itched like a wound scarring over -- he was healing, but the wound still plagued him with discomfort.

Even so, Steve still found his days melding together in a haze of peace and comfort. He didn't even realize when they entered the month of July, so it was a surprise when, one morning, while Steve was administering his insulin shot, Bucky turned to him and said, "Happy birthday."

One-hundred and three years old. Steve took stock of himself, back in the same delicate body he'd been born with, the vibranium plates in his spine serving as the only physical evidence of a different time. He glanced at Bucky, who was now sitting at the edge of the bed, yawning and scratching his stomach with a metal hand. It was amazing how much everything was so different, and also, exactly the same.

Steve smiled. "Thanks, Buck." 

The rest of the day passed in their usual manner: goats, orchard, lake, supper. After they ate, Steve headed down to the lake with his sketchbook, intending to continue with the piece he'd been working on the past few days: a colored pencil drawing of the lake at sunset. He wanted to capture the moment when the sky was a perfect meld of orange and pink and the trees' and mountains' silhouettes were a solid, inky black. It was a slow going project; the desired lighting only lasted a few moments each night

Just as the light was starting fade and Steve closed his sketchbook for the night, he heard Bucky's footsteps coming up behind him. Steve turned and saw him coming down the path, holding a tall glass bottle filled with dark liquid. 

"I know it's not a Brooklyn rooftop overlooking the fireworks, and this is wine, not whiskey, but..." Bucky looked down, smiling and looking a little embarrassed. "A birthday tradition is a birthday tradition."

Steve felt choked with affection as Bucky sat down beside him and offered him the bottle. He took a sip. The taste was strong, the flavor sweet and burning like spiced fruit. He grimaced and Bucky just laughed at him.

"Cheapest stuff I could find in the village," he said, taking the bottle from Steve and drinking. "Got that part of the tradition right, at least."

"Can you even get drunk?" Steve asked, taking the bottle back for his turn.

"Yeah. One of the perks of Zola's knockoff serum." Bucky took his turn with the bottle again. "If my memory's right, you can  _ definitely  _ get drunk now."

Steve grabbed the bottle back, glaring and taking a defiant sip. Bucky wasn't wrong; he  _ was  _ a lightweight. Already, he could feel his cheeks were flushed, though he wasn't sure if it was because of the wine or the way Bucky was sitting so close their legs were touching. Regardless, he took an extra sip before passing the bottle back to Bucky.

They sat in silence for a while, taking their turns from the bottle and staring out at the lake. Even long after the sun had fallen behind the mountains, the air was still warm. It never failed to amaze Steve, all the ways in which Wakanda was beautiful. The lush colors of Bucky's orchard. The glowing sleekness of the capital city. And now at night, the way the sky filled with stars, bright and beautiful, reflecting in the still water.

By now, the wine had well and truly hit Steve. He could feel the heat on his cheeks, the heaviness in his limbs. He couldn't hold a single thought in his head for very long, his attention flitting between the lake and the sky and  _ Bucky _ .

"Are you drunk?" Steve blurted, turning to him.

Bucky just smiled, big and dopey. He wasn't as far gone as Steve but Steve knew that particular smile and it certainly wasn't a sober one. Bucky picked up the bottle -- it was still half full -- and nearly drained what was left.

"Jesus Bucky!"

The dopey smile still hadn't left Bucky's face. "I have to catch up to where you're at."

Just to be spiteful, Steve snatched the bottle and took his biggest sip yet, finishing it off.

"Fuck!" Bucky exclaimed, eyes wide as Steve slammed the bottle down with more force than was probably warranted. And then, at the prompting of nothing at all, Bucky dissolved into a fit of honest-to-god  _ giggling _ . Steve couldn't help joining him, though he didn't even know what the hell was so funny. For several minutes, they couldn't even  _ look  _ at each other without bursting into teary-eyed laugher.

"Jesus," Steve said, wiping his eyes. He'd finally managed a modicum of self-control, though he and Bucky still smirked at each other whenever their eyes met, like they were sharing some kind of private joke. Except Steve still didn't know what was so goddamn  _ funny _ . "What was  _ in  _ that wine?"

"Wakanda is a magical place," Bucky said with a sigh, falling backwards to lay on the sand. His voice had softened into something approaching seriousness, and Steve recalled suddenly that Bucky's inebriation always happened in stages. After the giggling usually came the maudlin drunk. 

Steve laid down right next to him, both of them looking at the sky instead of each other. That fact, coupled with his overall lack of inhibition, made Steve ask the question he hadn't even realized he'd been holding back:

"Do you think you'll ever come home?"

Bucky barked out a laugh, dry and bitter. "And where exactly is that?"

"America. New York."  _ With me _ , he didn't say. He was drunk, but not that drunk.

Bucky didn't say anything for a long time, and then, quietly, "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

Jealousy stirred in Steve at that, unexpected and unwanted. For a long time, he'd thought of the Facility as home, but now the idea of going back there, to the place where he would be constantly reminded of his inadequacy, filled him with dread. Home shouldn't be a place like that. It should be a haven, a comfort. 

Steve reached out and grabbed Bucky's hand -- the vibranium one -- where it was resting beside his, the bold action driven by sudden desperation for Bucky's comfort against his melancholic thoughts. Bucky made no comment about it, just held Steve's fingers tight and moved his thumb back and forth over the back of Steve's hand. 

"I don't think I know where home is," Steve confessed up to the stars. Tears stung in his eyes. God, he was  _ so _ drunk.

Bucky brought Steve's hand to his chest, intertwining their fingers right over his heart, exactly the way Steve had done with Bucky the night he'd woken from a nightmare.

"This could be home," Bucky whispered. "Here in Wakanda. With me."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, silent tears falling. All his life, he wanted to make a home with Bucky. But the way Steve wanted it -- the two of them together, in love -- wasn't what Bucky was offering. He couldn't tell what would break his heart more: going back to the Facility to be haunted by the ghost of the hero he used to be, or staying with Bucky and being at constant war with his own feelings. And the sickest part of all was that it killed him to think of leaving either one; as much as they hurt, he couldn't bear to abandon the ghost of Captain America or the way he felt about Bucky. It was all too much to think about. Especially in his current state of mind.

"I don't know, Buck," he said because that was all he  _ could _ say. "I don't--- I don't know."

Bucky sighed, so soft Steve might've just imagined it. "It's alright."

Steve didn't know what else to say, the emotions roiling inside him beyond articulation. Bucky didn't speak again either, so they just laid together in silence, hands still clasped together. Bucky kept on rubbing his thumb over Steve's hand, and as the sedative effects of the wine began to creep up on him, that gentle, repetitive motion was enough to lull Steve to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited to share the next chapter featuring Albymangroves's art with you guys! I'm planning to post it next week (12/30) but it could be later. Things have been very busy lately; thanks so much for your patience and understanding. I PROMISE the next chapter will be worth it ;)


	9. Ingcuka Wamanga Ngonyama

Bucky woke to an aching head and stiff muscles. He blinked his eyes open, slowly remembering _why_ he was laying on the ground outside by the lake. Steve's birthday. The wine. _God_ , the wine. He shielded his eyes from the barely rising sun as even that minimal brightness was too much for his hungover eyes.

Beside him, Steve still slumbered on, snoring a little. He wouldn't be having a good time when he woke up, between the alcohol's effects on his fragile system and the pain he'd be feeling in his back from sleeping on the ground. Steve's hand still rested on Bucky's chest, in the same position they'd fallen asleep in right after Bucky had blurted he wanted Steve to come home to him. _Jesus_. He was gonna have to ask Shuri what the hell Wakandan's put in their wine.

Before he could spend too long wallowing in his own mortification, Bucky heard the sound of distant laughter, high-pitched and mischievous. The village kids.

He knew giggles like that could only mean trouble. Carefully shifting away from Steve, he stood up and made his way back up the path toward his hut. He could see them through the treeline, all four of them kneeling in the grass, huddled over something, laughing and talking excitedly over each other as they pointed at it.

Bucky approached slow and silent. They didn't notice his presence at all until he went right up behind them and said, "What do you got there?"

They all jumped about ten feet in the air. Screaming, they bolted up and ran off, scattering in different directions. Whatever they were doing, they clearly expected to be in a lot of trouble for it. In their frantic haste to get away, they left the object of their amusement behind. Steve's sketchbook.

Bucky peered down at it and froze at the sight of his own naked form staring up at him. He bent over and picked up the sketchbook with shaking hands, needing a closer look because there had to be some mistake.

But there was no mistake about it. Even ignoring the unambiguous vibranium arm, there was no doubt that was him. He'd seen hundreds of Steve's sketches of him before, and his features in this one -- hair, eyes, lips, hands -- were all drawn exactly the way Steve always depicted them. This drawing was just like all the others except for the part where Bucky was naked as the day he was born.

Bucky couldn't breathe. He couldn't stop _staring_. The longer he looked the more he noticed. The rivulets of water Steve had included running down his skin. The shading that emphasized the muscles in his arms and legs and abdomen. The way Steve drew his body hair so exactly: the light curls on his chest, the dark trail below his belly button, the untamed thatch between his legs.

Steve had _looked_ at him, had taken in every inch of Bucky's bare skin and immortalized it in this page. Bucky didn't know how he felt beyond mind-numbing shock. Deep, deep inside him, a small, dangerous glimmer of hope threatened to break through. The only reason Steve would draw something like this is if he--

"Buck?"

Bucky slammed the book shut and turned to see Steve coming up from the path, tunic askew and hair in complete disarray from sleeping on the ground. He was smiling at Bucky, warm and lax as the morning air around them. Steve had looked at him just like that a thousand times before, but now, after what he'd just seen in that sketchbook, Bucky couldn't help his overthinking, couldn't help the hopeful suspicions that started to creep into his mind.

And the way Steve's whole body stilled when he looked down and saw what Bucky was holding didn't exactly help to dispel such thoughts.

"Oh, I was wondering where that went," Steve said evenly as he reached a hand out to take his sketchbook back. To anybody else, he would seem completely unconcerned. But Bucky could read Steve's nerves like a musician could tell an instrument out of tune.

"Yeah, I just found the village kids with it. You must have left it out last night." Bucky tried to keep the tremor out of his own voice, but if he knew Steve like the back of his hand, then it went both ways. So when their eyes met as he handed the sketchbook over, Bucky could tell Steve knew that he'd seen. He looked at Bucky with an expression caught between challenge and fear, like he was daring Bucky to say something but was also terrified of shattering their shared illusion of nonchalance.

Maybe in a different century, in a different _lifetime_ Bucky would have slung an arm around Steve's shoulders, mussed his hair up, and given him a good ribbing about the whole thing. He would have turned it into a joke because for it to be anything else simply wasn't possible.

But they were no longer in Brooklyn, on the edge of a war. They were half a world away and a hundred years later. And, God, Bucky was _done._ He was _tired_.

So if he was wrong about this, then so be it.

"Steve..." he began and realized as soon as he spoke that words wouldn't do for this.

Bucky had seen enough nightmares for a thousand lifetimes, but he couldn't recall ever being so terrified as he was in the moment he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Steve's.

The kiss was feather light, hardly more than a brush of contact, but Steve still startled, sketchbook slipping from hands as he froze under Bucky's touch. Bucky made to pull away at once, panic and dread already rising up in him as his boldness drained away.

Before he could move though, Steve put a hand on his cheek in a steadying touch that forced Bucky to meet his eyes.

"Did you mean that?" Steve whispered.

Bucky could only nod. Kissing Steve like that was the most genuine thing he'd ever done in his whole life.

Steve looked at him for a long moment and then, coming up on the tips of his toes, he threw his arms around Bucky's neck and pressed a deep kiss against Bucky's lips.

Bucky's body reacted before his brain even registered what was happening, his hands coming up at once to hold Steve's hips and draw them even closer together. Steve made a pleased sound at that and Bucky's shock gave way to joy brighter than anything he'd ever felt.

 

 

Breathless, they pulled away, resting their foreheads together. Neither of them spoke; the way they held each other conveyed everything the needed to say.

The moment was shattered suddenly by a high-pitched cry as N'Toba scurried out from behind a nearby bush where she must have been hiding and started chanting, "Ingcuka wamanga Ngonyama!"

The other children emerged from their own hiding places a second later, shrieking with delight and chasing each other as they echoed N'Toba.

"Ingcuka wamanga Ngonyama! Ingcuka wamanga Ngonyama!"

_White Wolf kissed the Lion._

Steve laughed, his gaze flicking from the kids back to Bucky. His smile was wide with stupid affection, and they still hadn't let go of each other.

"How long-- I mean, when did you..." Bucky struggled to find the words, feeling like he'd just stepped off a ride at Coney Island. It was like a dream; this couldn't be real. Except the fondness in Steve's expression was so raw and genuine that there was no room for doubt.

"My whole life, Buck."

And that was it. The last of the wall Bucky had spent decades building around his feelings came crumbling down. He bent down and kissed Steve again, this time fevered and impassioned, possessed by his newly emancipated love.

 _Me too, me too, me too. My whole goddamn life._ Words were impossible, but Bucky said it with the fierce press of his lips, the tight grip of his hands on Steve's waist.

"I had no idea," Steve said when they broke apart, looking just as dazed and awed as Bucky felt. "I didn't even know you felt that way about men."

"You remember how it was back before the war. I couldn't be...like this." Bucky still felt like he was drunk with happiness, dizzy and spinning with it, but at least he'd finally regained the ability to form a coherent sentence. "I liked girls just fine, but it was you I really wanted. It was always you."

Steve brought his hand up to caress Bucky's cheek. "I'm just sorry it took us so long."

Bucky rested his hand over Steve's, turning his head to kiss Steve's palm, thinking about what he'd just said. There had been moments, many through the years, when it had crossed his mind that Steve might feel the same way, and each time, he quashed his hope down. Back before the war, they would have been arrested or worse. When they found each other again in the new century, Bucky had been half out of his mind and Steve had a team that needed him. But now, Bucky had recovered himself and Steve was cut free of all the strings that had held him back.

"I think this happened just when it was supposed to," Bucky said finally.

Steve shifted closer, and though the pained expression was there hardly a second, Bucky noticed his wince.

"Shit. We shouldn't have slept on the ground like that. Your back must be killing you." Bucky trailed his hand down Steve's back, fingers brushing gently over his spine. It amazed him a little, that this was something he could do now, touch Steve with such open care and affection.

"I'll be alright."

"You should go lie down in bed."

"I have a better idea," Steve said, smirking in a way that had Bucky equal parts excited and terrified. "Let's go for a swim."

"You really should lie down." Bucky's protest was half-hearted. They were already starting down the path to the lake.

"Being in the water helps. Takes the pressure off my back."

Bucky snorted. "Sure you aren't just trying to get another look at me for your drawings?"

Steve said nothing, though the tips of his ears went red. Whatever embarrassment he was feeling, though, fell away when Bucky began to undress, and Steve made no effort to hide his staring. Bucky found it a strange but not unwelcome feeling to be the subject of such unabashed admiration.

He did the same to Steve, not looking away as the other man cast aside his clothes. Bucky took in every inch of him: his slender limbs, the soft curve of his ass, the impressive length of his half-hard cock.

It didn't matter what body he had; Steve would always be the most beautiful person Bucky had ever laid eyes on.

They walked into the lake together, wading in until the water came up above their waists. Bucky took a deep breath and submerged himself, letting the warm water wash away the residual dirt from his night spent on the ground. When he resurfaced, he saw Steve was floating on his back. Bucky did the same and took his hand so they drifted together.

They stayed just like that for a long while. It felt nice, to just let the water carry him, to feel the warmth of the rising sun on his skin, to feel Steve's fingers intertwined with his own. He could spend the rest of his life right there in that moment.

"I don't really know what this is, what we're doing," Steve said, breaking the long, peaceful silence. "But I need you to know: I love you."

Bucky shifted to his feet and pulled Steve's hand so that he came up standing too, drawing him in close as he could get. He held Steve against him, their bodies aligned so he could feel Steve's chest and stomach pressed to his, could feel his hard cock brushing against his own.

"I love you, too." He kissed Steve's forehead. "Oh God, I love you, too." He kissed his lips.

Steve leaned into it, taking the kiss deeper than any of the few they'd already shared. He slipped his tongue inside Bucky's mouth, bold and impatient in a way that was so _Steve_ it had Bucky holding back laughter, even as he brought his own tongue to Steve's lips, sliding and teasing.  

Steve moaned, his hands coming up to tangle in Bucky's hair. "I think--" he cut himself off with a low, pleased sound as Bucky started kissing along his jaw. "I think we should take this to the bed."

Bucky gave an enthusiastic hum, too busy mouthing at Steve's neck to give a proper response. He moved his hands to the back of Steve's thighs and nudged them up. Steve understood at once, lifting his legs to wrap them around Bucky's waist.

"This alright?" Bucky asked. He didn't want to make Steve to feel diminutive, but he'd always wanted to hold him like that.

Steve nodded, arms coming up around Bucky's neck. Bucky walked them back to the shore, effortlessly carrying Steve out of the water and up the path back to the hut. Steve pressed languid kisses to his face the whole way.

Once inside, Bucky set Steve down on the bed and leaned over him, straddling his hips. He bent to meet Steve's lips for a kiss before he moved down, trailing his lips along his jaw, his neck, his chest. Bucky pressed his tongue against a nipple, and Steve gave a sharp inhale.

"You liked that?" Emboldened, Bucky bit down just a little, not enough to hurt, just to tease. A choked off moan escaped Steve's lips. "Oh, you _really_ liked that."

A thrill lit up inside him; all the little secrets of Steve's body were his to explore now.

He moved lower and lower, kissing and teasing until his mouth was right next to Steve cock where it arched pink and hard over his belly. Bucky swiped his tongue over the tip, fingers brushing over his balls.

"Fuuuck." Steve's head fell back against the pillow, and Bucky grinned. He could break Steve apart in seconds like this. But it wasn't time for that -- not yet. He gave Steve's cock a final lick, tip to balls, before he came back up on his knees, straddling Steve so the cleft of his ass was right up against Steve's cock.

"I want you inside me," he told Steve, laying a hand on his cheek. "Do you want that?"

Steve turned, kissing his palm. "Yeah, Buck. Yeah."

Bucky wasted no time, reaching over to retrieve the bottle of slick where it was buried deep in his bedside drawer. His whole body trembled with anticipation. He'd fantasized about being with Steve countless times, and it had never mattered what body Steve had -- ninety pounds soaking wet or a Greek statue come to life -- because Bucky's imaginings had always centered on being filled by that formidably sized cock.

"You gotta open me up," Bucky said, tossing Steve the bottle of slick.

Steve gave him a flat look. "You know, I did go to art school in the Village. I know how this goes."

"You've been with men before?" Bucky asked, eyebrow raised. He lowered himself on all fours as Steve came up behind him, on hand resting on Bucky's hip.

"Yeah, there were some guys I knew from class. I thought maybe if I made time with them, I could get you out of my head."

"Yeah? How'd that turn out?" Bucky said it jokingly, but he knew exactly what Steve was talking about. He'd tried the same thing himself with a couple guys who worked with him at the docks.

Steve snorted, but gave Bucky's hip a gentle caress. "You good?"

Bucky hummed in the affirmative, canting his hips up. Steve pressed the first finger inside, and Bucky let out a long breath, willing himself to relax as Steve breached the tight ring of muscle and stretched him. He'd never found this part to be particularly pleasant, but the fact that it was _Steve_ opening him up set his whole body alight anyways.

After Steve added a second finger and then a third, Bucky mumbled, "'m good.". He was achingly hard now, open and ready. Steve withdrew his fingers, and Bucky groaned at the loss, feeling empty and desperate to be filled again.

"How do you want it?" Steve asked. When Bucky turned over to look at him, he could see his whole body was flushed red.

"I want to look at you. Lie back down."

Steve obliged, laying back as Bucky settled over him, planting his knees on either side of his hips. Pouring a generous amount of slick in his palm, Bucky took Steve's cock in his hand and stroked up and down the length of it before he wrapped one hand around the base to steady it as he sank down. He couldn't help his moaning as he went, even stretched out as he was, Steve's cock was thick and pressing against his insides in a way that was pure pleasure-pain.

"Oh, God," Bucky gasped, finally bottoming out. He started tearing up, unable to help himself. It was all so overwhelming. Steve inside him. Steve's hands on his hips, holding him steady, gentle and loving. Steve whispering words of praise and encouragement as Bucky starting moving up and down, riding him. They found their rhythm quickly as Steve rolled his hips up in time with Bucky's movements, each thrust hitting a spot of deep pleasure inside him.

"Steve, Steve, _Steve_." Bucky was half delirious now, taking his own cock in his hand as he kept on moving with Steve. He came seconds later, crying out as he spilled all over his hand and Steve's stomach and chest. God, it was a sight to behold: Steve laying there, eyes closed and making the sweetest noises as Bucky's come painted his torso.

"Oh Bucky, oh God." Steve's hips moved in frantic shudders as he came seconds later, and Bucky could feel the warm wetness of it inside him. Panting, he moved off Steve, and collapsed on his side, laying down next to him. They curled together, Bucky resting his head on Steve's shoulder, arm draped around his middle as Steve embraced him.

"That was--"

"I know."

They smiled at each other, blissed out and sated. Bucky noticed tears spilling down Steve's cheeks, and he leaned over to kiss away the wetness, even as he cried too.

"I love you." Bucky could say it as much as he wanted now, and his joy over that fact was brighter than anything he'd ever felt in his life.

"I love you, too."

They laid there for a long while. Bucky's thoughts spiraled, unrestrained in their happiness. Steve loved him. Surely, he would stay now, and they could build a home together, just like Bucky had always dreamed of. They could wake up together every morning and spend their days in the orchard and swimming in the lake. They could visit the market and go to the Temple together. They could name new baby goats--

As if those damned animals could read Bucky's mind from all the way out in the pasture, an ear-splitting bleat sounded from outside.

"Fuck. Fucking goats need feeding."

Steve just laughed. "I guess we better get to it then."

And so, reluctant as they were to leave the bed, they started the day. Together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art was done by the fantastic Albymangroves. Please give her your love on [Dreamwidth](https://alby-mangroves.dreamwidth.org/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/albymangroves).  
> Her fantastic illustration was done as part of the Marvel Trumps Hate charity event. I chose to donate to The Trevor Project. Here is a link to [their donation page](https://give.thetrevorproject.org/give/63307/#!/donation/checkout). They do a lot of fantastic work for the LGBTQ community. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter; I'm so happy to share this scene with you. They're finally together but there's still a couple chapters left as they work out what this new relationship means :)


	10. To Have and to Hold

The days that followed after the morning Bucky discovered his drawing were the happiest of Steve's life.

On the surface, little had changed. The hours were filled with much of the same activities as before, split between time on Bucky's farm and his physical therapy appointments. Bucky still fretted over Steve's back troubles. Steve still drew sketch after sketch of Bucky's features. They laughed and teased each other, just as before. Steve shouldn't have been so surprised by how little their revelation changed things; they'd always loved each other and the way they treated each other had always been out of that love. The only difference now was that they both knew what the other meant by it. But still, some things were new.

He fell asleep in Bucky's arms every night and woke there every morning. They held hands when they walked through the marketplace and when they knelt together at the Temple. They kissed all the time and in all states of passion: quick pecks as they worked together in the orchard, passionate sliding of lips and tongue when they were alone in the lake.

And then there was the sex. There was nothing they didn't try in the days that followed their first time. Steve was desperate to learn everything there was to know about this previously elusive facet of Bucky, and in turn, Bucky seemed equally as eager to learn Steve's body.

Some nights, they made love. Slow and tender, whispering decades worth of endearments and affections. Other nights, they fucked. Brutal and desperate but no less loving. It was impossible for Steve to say which he liked best; it was him and Bucky getting as close as two human beings could get, and no matter how he experienced it, there was no better feeling.

They tended to talk a lot, afterwards. About anything and everything. After coming together, sharing their bodies so openly and rawly, Steve was still desperate to give more, to bare his soul to Bucky. So they talked about the war. About Bucky's trauma and Steve's guilt. About the village children and the goats. 

One night, a week before Tony's wedding and the end of Steve's PT regimen, Bucky buried his face against Steve's neck and whispered, terrified and desperate, "You're staying here right? I mean, you'll come back for good after the wedding?"

Steve kissed the crown of his head, and surprised at how quickly the answer came, whispered back, "Yeah, Buck. This is home."

And that was the truth. Had always been the truth, really. But, sometime in the past few weeks, between losing the last of his lingering ties to his duties as Captain America and learning the truth of Bucky's feelings, it became clear that the place he belonged was right there in Bucky's arms, tucked away in their sanctuary. 

Still, even after coming to that realization and making his promise to Bucky, there was was an air of trepidation on the day before Tony's wedding. 

"You could come with me," Steve told Bucky as they ate lunch together. A royal escort would be coming any minute to pick Steve up, so he could depart with T'Challa and Nakia to New York. 

Bucky's mouth pressed into a tight line. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"You know things are okay with Tony now, right?"

"Just because he doesn't want to kill me anymore, doesn't mean anything is 'okay'." Bucky sighed. "Look. Maybe another time, I'll go with you to visit the Facility. But not on the man's wedding day. I'm not gonna do that to him."

Steve knew that the resigned look on Bucky's face meant there was no arguing with him about it. Instead, he considered what Bucky had just said about visiting the Facility with him another time. The implications of such a harmonious arrangement, where he could visit the people he loved with Bucky accompanying him, filled him with warm excitement.

When the royal escort arrived, Steve kissed Bucky long and sweet and said, "I love you. I'll be back in a couple of days."

"I love you too. Tell Sam I hate him."

  
  
  


It was late in the night when they landed at the Facility. A team of staff awaited them in the hangar and escorted T'Challa, Nakia and their entourage of Dora Milaje to the master guest apartment. Meanwhile, Steve made his way to the residential wing, where his own suite was.

It had been months since Steve walked the Facility's halls and making his way down the familiar corridors, he felt a strange sense of comfort. It wasn't home, exactly, not in the way the hut in Wakanda was home. But still, it felt good to know, even after months away, he still felt at ease here. It wasn't home, but the Avengers Facility would always be a place of safety, of familiarity.

When he opened the door to his suite, Natasha was sitting on the sofa in his living room. He hadn't been expecting here but neither was he remotely surprised to see her there.

"Hey there," she said with a smirk as Steve set down his bag and she got up to meet him for a hug.

"How are you?" she asked.

Steve couldn't contain the smile that broke wide over his face. "I'm fantastic."

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "How's Barnes?"

"Buck's good."

"And your spine? You're finished up with Shuri's PT program, right?"

"Yeah. Had my last session the other day."

Natasha glanced over his shoulder at the bag he'd left against the door. "You only brought enough luggage for a couple of days."

"Yeah. I guess I did."

Natasha smiled and gave the side of his face an affection pat, and though he found it infuriating most of the time, for once he was glad for her ability to know things without being told.

  
  
  


The ceremony was held the next day on the Facility grounds and even the decor was symbolic of Tony and Pepper's union: extravagant and full of fanfare but still classy and meticulously organized to the last detail. 

Steve sat in the second row, next to Sam, and when Natasha sidled in next to him, she reached over Steve and handed Sam a crisp twenty-dollar bill.

"Hey what's this--" Sam paused, staring at Steve with widening eyes, realization dawning on his face. "Holy shit. You and Barnes finally got your shit together?"

Steve just grinned, shrugging. "Bucky said to tell you he hates you."

A few minutes later, the band began playing the wedding march and all heads turned to watched Pepper come down the aisle, radiant and resplendent in a long white gown that matched her usual sense of style and elegance. 

Steve's gaze flit between her and where Tony stood at the altar with Rhodes as his best man. His whole face was lit up with love and awe as he stared at his bride.

Steve couldn't help thinking of Howard, and as the couple shared their vows, he shed more than a few tears.

  
  
  


Afterwards, Steve sat with all the Avengers at a large round table as music played and food was served. He didn't have anything to drink, but Steve sill felt pleasantly light and warm as he laughed and talked with everyone. This celebration, where they were all together, happy and alive, was a reminder that his sacrifice had been worth it.

When Tony and Pepper stopped at their table on their round of greeting guests, Steve gave his sincere congratulations.

Tony clapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Rogers."

Steve looked down, smiling sheepishly. "Actually, about that..."

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"I'm going back to Wakanda tomorrow and I'm going to stay there. With Bucky."

Tony looked taken aback for a moment and then recovered quickly, giving Steve's shoulder a squeeze. "Well, hey, you're over a hundred years old. About time you retired."

  
  
  


Later that night, after the celebration, when he was back in his room, Steve pulled out his phone and sent a message to Shuri:

**Can I ask a favor?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 (the final chapter) has been posted today as well so be sure to click “next chapter” :)


	11. From This Day Forward

For the first time in over two months, Bucky woke to an empty bed.

He knew Steve would be back the next day, but still, Bucky missed him. He missed the irritated groan he made each morning when his medication alarm went off. He missed his soft, half-asleep kisses. It still amazed him that those little things were a regular part of his life now. They were together, and Steve was coming back. He could handle a couple days alone, knowing that was the truth.

Bucky washed up and threw on some clothes. He was halfway to the goat pen when his kimoyo bead sounded. He tapped it to accept the incoming call and an astonishingly lifelike projection of Shuri appeared over his wrist.

"Come to the lab. You're arm is due for recalibration."

"Good morning to you too, Your Highness."

Shuri rolled her eyes. "It's boring here with my brother gone. Come on, I need something to do."

Bucky let out a long sigh, mostly just for show. The rest of his daily routine without Steve seemed like a sad prospect, and he did genuinely enjoy Shuri's company.

"Sure. Fine."

  
  


Two hours later, Bucky was perched on Shuri's worktable, vibranium arm outstretched as she dug around with a screwdriver under the panels. Without even looking up, apropos of nothing, she said:

"So you and Steve are a thing?"

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He should have suspected Shuri's ulterior, gossip-driven motives for summoning him to her lab; his arm wasn't actually due for recalibration for two more week.

"How did you find out about that?"

"Okoye's grandmother is one of the village elders. She told Okoye, and Okoye told me."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Bucky muttered. He didn't really mind about people knowing. Hell, he and Steve held hands everywhere they went. But still, it was weird to think of their new relationship as something people talked about.

"Okoye is a _huge_ gossip," Shuri went on. "Nobody expects it because she's all--" Shuri straightened up and set her face in a mock-serious expression that was admittedly a dead on impression of Okoye's usual scornful stare. She was able to maintain the expression for only a few seconds before she started snickering. Then, more seriously she said, "But anyways. You and Steve."

"Me and Steve," Bucky repeated.

"You owe me," Shuri pointed a screwdriver at him. "You two never would have gotten together if he didn't come here to have surgery."

"I owe you for a lot of things," Bucky said softly, suddenly feeling the sheer immensity of his gratitude. His safety, his sanity, this new life he and Steve were just beginning together… he owed it all to her. To her brother, the king. To this nation of proud and generous people.

Shuri looked up from her computer interface, expression going soft when she met Bucky's eyes. "Don't get all emotional on me! I invited you here so you could give me the details on you and your boyfriend, not to get all sentimental."

Bucky just laughed, knowing that was her way of saying "you're welcome".

Shuri's interface made a chiming sound that signaled a new message, and when she glanced down at it, her eyes went wide.

"Oh Bast..."

"What?" Bucky craned over, trying to see what could have made Shuri react like that, but she quickly flicked her wrist and the holographic interface disappeared.  

"Nothing," she said, even as a delighted grin came over her face. "Just a new top secret project I've been assigned."

Bucky let it go, but for the rest of the afternoon they spent in the lab together, Shuri remained in higher-than-usual spirits.

  
  


It was pouring rain on the day Steve was supposed to return. The downpour went on for hours, not letting up for even a moment as it fell in fat, unrelenting droplets. Thunder rolled and lightning crashed throughout the day. Bucky only ventured outside twice to feed the goats and spent the rest of the day inside, curled up in bed, alternating between watching movies on the wall projector and napping. He was in the middle of the latter when Steve came home.

The sound of footsteps startled him awake at once, but when he took in the sight of Steve standing at the food of the bed, soaking wet and dripping all over the rug, he was filled immediately with affection -- and decades old irritation.

"Goddammit Steve, did you walk here all the way from the village in the pouring rain? Get out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia."

Steve just gave him a fond look, completely nonplussed. "I missed you too, Buck."

Bucky rolled his eyes but got to his feet and pulled Steve in for a kiss. He got his own clothes wet in the process but it was alright because _Steve had come home_.

They kissed and kissed as Bucky peeled off Steve's soaked clothes. He made quick work of his own attire as well, stripping as they fell onto the bed together. Though they were completely naked, Bucky didn't feel the need for things to escalate beyond kissing. He just wanted to hold Steve, skin to skin.

"How was the wedding?" Bucky asked. Steve was laying with his head pillowed against Bucky's chest, blankets wrapped tight around them both.

"Good," Steve said. His fingers trailed idly over Bucky's stomach. "I'm happy for them. Tony and Pepper… they're good together."

"Did you tell anyone? About us?"

"They know, yeah. About us. About how I'm staying here. They're all happy for me."

Bucky rubbed his hand over Steve's back, gentle and soothing. "How was it for you, being at the Facility again?"

Steve shifted so he was looking Bucky in the eyes, smiling wistfully. "It was nice, actually. But it's not home."

He leaned forward, kissing Bucky quick on the lips before climbing over him off the bed crossing the room to where his bag was set down on the table. After a moment of digging through its contents, Steve returned to the bed holding a small black box. Bucky sat up fully so he and Steve faced each other, both sitting on the bed.

Steve opened the box and Bucky stilled at the sight of two rings inside. They were made of vibranium, carved with intricate patterns painted sunshine yellow.

 _Yellow for peace_.

"Steve..." Bucky started, though he didn't know what to say. Tears were already beginning to well in his eyes.

"We can do it for real one day, a whole big ceremony and everything. If that's something you want," Steve said, so full of love and earnestness. Bucky reached out and took Steve's hands, needing to express his feelings somehow, even if words were impossible at the moment.

Steve went on. "I just know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to make that promise. No more wars. No more missions. No guilt. No regrets. Just me and you until the end of the line."

"Are you asking me to marry you, Rogers?" Bucky managed after a few seconds, when the ability to form coherent speech finally returned.

"Yeah, you jerk." Steve blinked away his own tears, sniffling. "I'm asking you to marry me."

"Yes," Bucky whispered. "God, Steve, of course _yes_."

Steve held Bucky's left hand steady as he slipped one of the rings on his vibranium finger, the metal locking securely into place. Shuri's handiwork, no doubt. Bucky slipped the other ring onto Steve's finger, hand trembling as he did so.

Both rings on, they leaned into each other, kissing fierce and so full of love. They fell back onto the mattress, lips pressed together and holding each other close.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," they told each other, over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end!
> 
> I want to express my infinite thank you to all of you who have be reading and leaving comments all along. This is the very first time I've posted a story chapter-by-chapter and your constant support has meant so so much to me <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it <3

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello to me on Tumblr: [amethystkrystal](https://amethystkrystal.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And also, because the Tumblr Terms of Service are absolute nonsense now, I am also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/amethystk219/) and [Dreamwidth](https://amethystkrystal.dreamwidth.org/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Realignment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17231492) by [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves)




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